


ANGEL

by N_A_N_O



Series: BEAST [1]
Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game), 神撃のバハムート | Shingeki no Bahamut | Rage of Bahamut (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Origin Story, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Arch Seraph Lucifer (Character), Belial cameos, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fallen Angels, Feminization, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Helel Ben Sahar is the main antagonist, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Light Teratophilia, Lucilius cameos, M/M, Minor Lucilius/Lucio, Minor Lucio/Sandalphon, One scene of non-graphic vore, Romance, Smut, demon!Lucifer, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:07:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 34
Words: 107,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21837220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/N_A_N_O/pseuds/N_A_N_O
Summary: Three white wings shielded an embarrassed Cupid from the Speaker’s indignation. His hood up, wrapped in the shadow of Lucifer, he kept his eyes down, covering his guilty lips as if he were kissing a holy relic.Hiding the object of his crime wasn’t much use, because his arm was bleeding from the fragments of a broken arrow, and his face was pink with shame and the spell of love.(Can be read independently from the Beast series)
Relationships: Azazel & Lucifer (Granblue Fantasy), Lucifer/Sandalphon (Granblue Fantasy)
Series: BEAST [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1475543
Comments: 87
Kudos: 71





	1. I : AWAKENING

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a canon-divergent story, where Sandalphon comes into Lucifer's life in the Rage of Bahamut world. It’s related to the BEAST series, but can be read independently, because it’s the prequel “before the fall” so to say. I haven't been able to play the original Lucifer arcs in RoB, so I’ll write his character based on what I know from the anime, and imagine him to be as the Arch Seraph.
> 
> I'd love to read any of your constructive criticism, comments, and questions, so please don't hesitate! You can follow me on my Twitter account; @NanosFics

*

Three white wings shielded an embarrassed Cupid from the Speaker’s indignation. His hood up, wrapped in the shadow of Lucifer, he kept his eyes down, covering his guilty lips as if he were kissing a holy relic.

Hiding the object of his crime wasn’t much use, because his arm was bleeding from the fragments of a broken arrow, and his face was pink with shame and the spell of love.

***

“Oh, there you are!”

An angel with a storm of brown locks scampered towards the Arch Seraph. Without an introduction, the stranger grabbed his sanctified hand and took him along like he had snatched the chalice from its stand. Lucifer was stunned speechless.

A laurel wreath garnished the stranger’s chestnut hair, and numerous bracelets rattled at his delicate wrists. He wore a white silk toga and high heels at his sandals. Nothing in his clothing or ornaments indicated which celestial sphere he came from, or his purpose. He seemed to know where he was going and why, and his conviction was contagious.

Instead of entering the temple's leading portal, they went through a small gate at the end of a side-alley next to the building. The two angels hurried over a path between lines of preened bushes and emerged in a splash of greenery.

As they went through stone pathways through a large garden, Lucifer listened to the peaceful hum of wilderness. It was unlike the hustle and bustle of the silver city. The trees were of the time of Genesis. Lucifer gazed at their mossy trunks, spaces which seemed comfortable to read in peace, and imagined himself sitting there, undisturbed and without a care. Solace!

“I’ve finished the new beverage and grew impatient,” the angel said, his tone so excited Lucifer could only feel intrigued. “I couldn’t resist finding you to sample it,”

“But I’m—" Lucifer meant to correct the misunderstanding that he probably wasn’t the right person, but the angel interrupted him.

“Busy, like always,” he sighed, “Too busy for a tiny break in Eden, once in a _hundred_ years.”

If this was the legendary Garden of Eden, which only a few could access, his host must have been of the highest sphere amongst Angels or Gods. It was an appropriate place for the Speaker to summon Lucifer. Unlike them, the stranger looked nothing like a Seraphim or even a Cherubim.

Two small brown wings without much of a luster adorned the energetic angel’s back. His brown hair sparkled with golden dust, but the shine came and went like dying embers. He might have been a messenger sent by the Speaker, so Lucifer kept following him.

They stopped in front of a stone gazebo, next to a small white round table. Precious porcelain with intricate painted patterns was set on top, snugly, for two. The Speaker wasn’t there, but the voice of the Almighty tended to be late. But the setting seemed…

“Please, have a seat!” the angel pulled a chair back.

Lucifer hesitated, worried he might make a mistake in his etiquette. Usually, people were solemn around him, but he didn’t know if the gesture and invitation were reverent, or casual. The angel squinted at him, seeming to notice something strange on his face or his clothes.

Before Lucifer could open his mouth to straighten the misunderstanding, bracelets jingled at his left ear. His breath caught as slender fingers brushed a strand of his platinum hair behind his ear.

“This length suits you,” he said and smiled.

The sun was beaming up at him, voice as soothing as the lyre. Lucifer couldn’t even identify what meaning that smile held, nor why he smiled as well, the corners of his lips quivering. Only humans had ever praised his looks, but he had no interest in his appearance. What a strange creature he’d encountered.

Just as swiftly as he had shamelessly touched Lucifer’s hair, the angel turned away and picked a kettle up. Lucifer sat down, trying to regain his composure. He felt a bit hot in the face, light on his feet, something foreign but not unwelcome bubbling up from his chest.

“I made it with a berry I haven’t named yet,” the angel explained, oblivious to whatever emotion had washed through Lucifer.

Was this supposed to be juice? He poured a steaming black liquid into Lucifer’s cup. It smelled fruity and of cedarwood.

One sip; As bitter as medicine! The angel glanced at him, his eyebrows slightly knitted. Even though seeing that cute round face blush like a peach would have been entertaining, Lucifer would have hated to make him cry.

“It’s good,” Lucifer said, forcing a smile to cover a grimace. Maybe that taste could grow on someone, with time, or sugar… He still preferred fruit juice.

“Thank goodness!”

The angel detailed the process of his invention. It seemed he spent most of his time inside the garden, growing and observing plants by himself. Lucifer loved gathering new knowledge and listened eagerly. Lulled by his voice, by the distant chirps of birds and a mild breeze, Lucifer’s six wings lightened up. Who would have thought that receiving a summon from the Speaker would lead him to such solace – and he remembered.

Lucifer bolted up, the table rattled, and the angel jumped in surprise.

“I’m so sorry! I forgot an important appointment!” Lucifer said.

The angel slowly nodded, holding his cup tight in both hands as he almost spilled it. Lucifer bowed down. “Thank you for the invitation. It was delicious!”

Lucifer rushed away and heard the angel shout, “Come back sooner next time!”

Yessir! Wow, that was one commandeering angel, but Lucifer didn’t dislike his attitude. Everything about that eccentric was refreshing and oddly relaxing. Maybe the lack of formality or stiffness Lucifer was used to observe from others? 

Once he was stepping up the stairs to the temple, Lucifer remembered he’d forgotten to ask the stranger for his name.

***

“Lucifer-sama, be careful!” Azazel yelled as Lucifer phased out for a second, seeing the corpse of a child in rags, its rigid fingers still tight around the holy relic.

A giant, reptilian demon pounced onto Lucifer from above, its fangs and claws out, desperate like most of its comrades. They were numerous and as dumb as brute strength. Assisted by Orcs, they made the snarling but manageable pack to Angels. On the other hand, the defenseless humans had been at the mercy of their raids for months. They had taken refuge into their homes, cellars, caves in the woods, terrified by the battle.

“The relic! Someone, get that relic!” One of the angels shouted as an Orc approached the child’s corpse.

Too late. It had taken the stone-carved star. A jewel at its center began shining, the colors of a rainbow beaming out of it, and the dumb fiend’s jaw dropped. Lucifer lunged against the Orc and slashed its pig head off. The star stopped shining.

The other demons understood what the angels had come to protect or retrieve, and all lunged against Lucifer.

A rain of light poured from above, piercing holes by hundreds into the enemy. Silence fell on the battlefield; all heads rose to the shining Seraph. A cheer amongst the angels, total silence in the village.

With the calm, heads shyly peeked out the houses, and from behind the trees. A survivor, a monk by his robes, stumbled out of the ruins of their temple to Lucifer. He threw himself to his knees, shuddering and shaking.

“Please forgive us for failing at protecting the relic! We’ll make sure it never happens again!”

Falling to pieces was a common reaction amongst humans when they saw a Seraph for the first time. It was no use trying to comfort them because that fear often turned into anger. They loved their gods only until they manifested, and then felt weak and threatened.

“We’re taking it back. Now that Satan might know this village owns such a relic, it’s not safe anymore. I suggest you move your community out of the area,” Lucifer said.

The village was in shambles, most clay and straw houses burnt down or looted, some still housing the dead. Leaving was the safest, most logical path. Nobody could have lived there anymore, even their rice paddies vandalized.

Azazel grimaced and threw an apologetic glance at the monk, who was now crawling at his feet. He lifted his round head, as pale as death, the deep creases dug by sun hanging at his brown cheeks.

“P-please don’t! It’s been protecting us for generations! It contains the soul of our Saint!”

“Then how do you intend to protect it? Is it worth many more lives?” Lucifer asked.

To that, the Monk stuttered and sputtered, and Lucifer let him do, leaving him time to answer. Azazel shook his head, but Lucifer didn’t understand why.

“W-we will pray! We will pray with all of our hearts! We will build a monument in your honor!” the Monk said.

“Stronger demons will come for it, and our numbers are limited,” Lucifer warned.

“Prayer is all we have!” the monk suddenly shouted, his face red, and then he shrunk back, horrified by his reaction.

He took a deep breath and repeated, “Prayer is all we have, my Lord. If praying to you may not save us, then we have no hope left!”

“Rest assured, our Father hears your prayers.”

The man looked like he was going to cry, but finally, he nodded and handed the relic to Lucifer. He scurried back to a group of mourning villagers, still faithful enough to pray with them for the deceased. Nobody was in the mood to vote or veto his decision.

The demons were all dead, set in a heap ready to burn on a bonfire. The dead child was still lying alone, abandoned. Lucifer picked it up. Nobody came for him, probably too afraid of the Seraph to approach, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave him lying there like garbage.

Lucifer brushed a strand of black hair away from its small face. How long had he been alone? The demons had been around for months. Wasn’t that very long in a human child’s lifespan?

“Lucifer-sama, look how pretty it is!” Azazel yelled, and Lucifer twitched in surprise.

That Archangel was good-hearted, but he thundered rather than he spoke. He seemed proud as he showed the rainbow-colored stone at the center of the relic.

“It is,” Lucifer said, biting his inner cheek to not laugh at Azazel’s childish awe.

A lone woman with greying hair and a limp was brave or cynical enough to approach the Arch Seraph. The boy's entire family was gone, victims before him of the Orcs Lucifer killed. She took the small body into her arms and carried it away.

Death seemed final to humans. They were crying as if they weren’t all going to the same place as if they couldn’t trust the Almighty with their souls. They were afraid of Hell, of Demons, or some dark place only the cursed went, but they wished just as much for it. Yes, Lucifer came late, and some humans screamed their anger at him, but those accusations didn’t affect him in the slightest.

Azazel stiffened up, more sensitive to human pain. It wasn’t the first time he had witnessed massacres, but they piled up, and up, and up. They were always too late. He’d lowered his head, and held his hands in his back, his golden halo tipped by those who shouted at him loudest. He looked at the dead, his gaze somber.

Angels could lose their manifested shapes, but their souls were eternal. Azazel told Lucifer about a rumor that unborn human babies were reborn into doves in the garden of Eden. It might have comforted him to imagine the children there, whatever new shape they took. Lucifer was going to ask the stranger if it was true.

“Sir, I don’t mean to cross my bounds, but why don’t humans have any weapons to defend themselves?” Azazel asked.

“They are a young species. Father warned they couldn’t handle the power yet,” Lucifer replied.

“Are you saying these good people could do any wrong?” Azazel hummed but didn’t push it any further as Lucifer frowned at him.

It would have been so lovely to take a book and sit down under one of those beautiful trees in the garden of Eden. It was so calm there, far from the stench of death and the racket of war.

By the gods, he wanted to take a book and call it a day.

***

Lucifer looked up the tallest tree he found on his path through the Garden. There was a legend that whoever studied beneath the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil could reach intellectual enlightenment. It probably wasn’t this tree, even though its stump could have housed a flight of cherubs, and one could have easily built a house on top of its branches.

Oh, mattress of soft moss, divine, the lean wood against his tired back! Lucifer groaned in relief, the six-winged Seraph in the most comfortable nest he'd ever enjoyed. He closed his eyes, to listen to the distant chirps of songbirds, and the whisper of wind-swayed leaves. His days off weren’t ever days off when people found him, and there, nobody was going to see him. Maybe he was sinning, but he saw no evil in using his alotted free time. Angels didn’t physically tire, but their minds could wear out if they fought like machines.

After a while of basking in the soft rays of light, Lucifer opened the book he brought along. It was on the theme of aromatic and medicinal plants. Alchemy was a forbidden theme, but medicine wasn’t. The knowledge served only little for a Seraph, but incense was always enjoyable to smell.

The leaves rustled. Some animals might have climbed into the tree. Still, except serpents, there weren’t any dangerous animals rumored in Eden, so Lucifer ignored it. Poison couldn’t kill him, and he’d quicker strangled the snake than the other way around.

It was just above him, looking down. He didn’t move and didn’t intend to. Whatever was watching was harmless, because its aura was warm and kind. It was better to ignore—

“Hello there,” a familiar soft voice said, and bracelets clinked next to Lucifer’s ear, a slender hand brushing his cheek from above.

He flinched at the contact, its warmth almost sizzling to his perception, and looked up from his book. The stranger was lying on top of the branch right over him, feline in his demeanor.

“What in heavens are you doing up there?” Lucifer asked, moving away, feeling attacked by the onslaught of heat rushing up his caressed ear.

“I’m looking for Nahash,” he answered.

“Who is that?” Lucifer asked, knowing nobody of that name.

The stranger lifted an eyebrow, “You forgot the name of the pet you offered me?”

“About that, I—”

The angel had jumped down from the tree and landed next to him, hands on his hips. He ruffled his wings and strutted away, offended.

Lucifer sighed. No, he wasn't going to stand up. He wanted to read and end that book he couldn’t ever finish. He was always disturbed, wherever he was, either by colleagues or by an emergency. He couldn’t open one on the battlefield, could he? If the day ever came that people wouldn’t dare interrupt him anymore, he’d not lift his eyes from his reading, even if it were the apocalypse!

He set it aside and ran after the angel. “I’m sorry, Sir, but I—”

The angel gasped and turned around. “And now, you don’t even remember my name?” He said it so softly, Lucifer wasn’t sure if he was scolding him or just sad.

“You’re supposed to keep me on the right path, but you don’t even care enough anymore to remember my name? Is that why you never visit me anymore?” he asked in a trembling voice.

“But I—” Lucifer tried, but it was no use; the angel was throwing a tantrum.

“What kind of nonsense is this? Do I matter so little to you, you imprison me here, expecting me to wait for two-thousand years until Father—”

Enough. Lucifer put his finger to the angel’s lips. He fluttered his eyelashes furiously, but shut up.

“I haven’t imprisoned you.”

The angel pushed his hand away and dared to prod him against the chest. “Yes, you have. You told me to never go out by myself, but you never visit either! I’m growing roots!”

Lucifer poked him back, feeling irritation well up, and the angel seemed shocked. “I’m not that man! Who are you even talking about?”

“Helel ben Sahar! That’s you!” the angel snapped at his nerve’s end.

By the gods… “We are clones! My name’s Lucifer!”

The other’s jaw dropped. “N-nonsense… And I thought he— Oh my, I'm so sorry!” and his face turned crimson red.

There that impulsive angel went again, flying away. How typical of Helel to forget to mention such _trivial_ things as clones and caged pets, Lucifer thought, pinching the bridge of his nose. Golden cage or not, it didn’t feel right, and that went against the rules. The Speaker should have known better than any other.

Having taken a deep breath to calm down, Lucifer unfurled his six wings and took off. Once he was above the garden, he couldn’t see the angel anymore.

He still didn’t know his name.

***

Decided to shed some light one what his brother was plotting by caging sparrows in the Garden of Eden, Lucifer flew back to the temple. As soon as he stepped in, already a loud voice called;

“Lord Lucifer!”

“Hello, Azazel,” Lucifer grunted, still thinking about how he should approach Helel about secluding angels.

If he hadn’t told either of them about their existence, there must have been a good reason. It might have been a new situation or orders from above.

Azazel followed him silently, a blessing. They arrived at the main prayer hall, where only a few angels were seated on wooden benches. Some were looking at the stained glass which represented their Lord, all fire, horns and scales, the Garden of Eden, and other scenes from their Genesis. Most were in silent prayer.

Azazel stopped and kneeled in front of a tall statue representing a Venus holding an angel cradle. He lit one of the small candles in an alcove at its foot.

“It’s unusual to see you pray,” Lucifer said, once Azazel stood up again, seeming as lost in thought as before.

“I’m here for council. The Speaker Lady won’t be happy if I don’t do this first,”

“You’re going to see Arbiter Mortis?” Lucifer asked, somewhat surprised, “She accepts to give council to Dominions?”

Azazel shrugged. “I didn’t ask her if she did. That’s why I’m praying, so she accepts.”

Typical Azazel, just butting into about anyone. He didn’t know how strict and rigid that woman was with conventions and etiquette. It was unconventional for someone of his sphere to even approach her without asking the lowest related grades before. At best, she’d have snubbed him, at worst, reprimanded him.

“Why not rather Helel? I’m going to him. He’ll more readily listen to you if I ask him to.”

“Would you listen to his advice if it were a matter of the heart?” Azazel asked, lifting his eyebrows.

“In all honesty, no,” Lucifer replied, and Azazel laughed loudly before slapping his hands to his mouth, heads turned to him, glances disapproving.

“And what are you doing here? More work?”

Lucifer hummed, unsure of how much he could tell Azazel. He was the closest thing to a friend he had, and he was able to keep a secret. Lucifer gestured Azazel to follow him somewhere less crowded. They sat in front of an empty chapel with a statue of an angel cradle at its center.

“Helel’s taken someone under his wing, and he never told me.”

A stir behind them distracted them both. Long blond hair, airy white robes, the silence would have been religious if it weren’t for the clanking armor of the Archangels. An escort followed behind Arbiter Mortis. The Lady Speaker brushed her long blonde hair back, and they stopped at the center of the main hall.

Lucifer stood up to join her, but froze in his tracks, surprised at what he saw;

The stranger of the Garden of Eden had peeked from beside her large robes. He moved to face her, hands at his sides, rubbing the fabric of his toga, pale and small.

What trouble had he gotten himself into with Arbiter Mortis, of all people?


	2. Chapter 2

Even though Arbiter Mortis was a Speaker and the Grand Leader of Angels, she wasn’t as merciful and forgiving as the Almighty. Whoever important or famous in Heaven broke the rules repeatedly, committed a grave sin or a crime, had to deal with her wrath personally.

Her eyes were lidded, her expression stoic. “Sandalphon,” she said to the stranger of the Garden of Eden as if she were talking to a small child she wanted to soothe, “Five self-inflicted lashes should suffice.”

He put a hand onto his shoulder as if it already prickled. His head low, Sandalphon replied, his voice quivering, “Thank you for your benevolence, O Speaker. I shall keep my ears open, and my mouth shut in the future.”

She shook her head. “Your only mistakes were your impatience, and not listening to your guest. Remember to never repeat them.”

He nodded in silence, “It will never happen again.”

Lucifer hesitated if his intervention would cause more harm than good. Five lashes while in control of the strength of the impacts were bearable, but still too strict a punishment for a simple misunderstanding. He hadn’t corrected him soon enough either.

“’ Scuse-me, Your Eminence?” Azazel called, and all eyes turned to him, some scoffs and gasps not deterring him the least.

He must have thought they were done, but etiquette required for their exchange last longer, between apologies and never-ending assurances. Never interrupt a Speaker. Maybe he knew but felt pity for the stranger. He was like that; honest to a fault, emotion-driven. A heart of gold wasn’t befitting for a fighting Dominion.

She scanned him up and down with slightly pursed lips and then glanced at Lucifer. Sandalphon bit his lip and blushed, avoiding eye contact. As Azazel’s superior and responsible for his actions, it had become Lucifer’s fault for having interrupted the conversation. What was he going to take? Ten lashes, and a whole day of reciting the Gold Codex?

To Lucifer’s despair, Azazel added, “Isn’t five lashes a bit much? Dunno what he did, but did he put fire to a bush in Eden or something?”

Arbiter cleared her throat, frowning, seeming more offended by each of his words. “That’s quite enough, Azazel,” Lucifer said, bowing at his turn to the Speaker, feigning to ignore Sandalphon. Gods, the inanities were going to last for hours to repair this incident!

“Sandalphon, you may return to your dwellings. I will make sure to deliver your message to Helel Ben Sahar. He’ll rush right back as soon as he can.”

“Thank you, Your Eminence,” Sandalphon repeated under his breath, and hurried away, not sparing Lucifer a glance.

“Now that’s done, I’d—” Azazel started, but Lucifer interrupted him.

“I’ll take care of things from here, Azazel. I’ll make sure to deliver your message,”

“But she’s right th—”

“Azazel,” Lucifer said, struggling to not sound gruff, and the Lieutenant finally understood.

His lips quirking down in disappointment, Azazel saluted Lucifer, “I will take my leave then.” He knocked his heels together and trudged away.

Feeling the Speaker’s icy gaze on him, and a shiver crawled up his spine because of the blizzard blowing from her displeased aura, Lucifer bowed again, for the many more times to come within the next hour.

As Lucifer feared, getting to the point with her was a struggle. By the time they arrived at the subject he had held at heart, his mouth was pasty, and the middle of his back tingled, but he’d saved Azazel. Arbiter didn’t seem exhausted at all.

“Indeed, Sandalphon told me about your encounter. I hope you understand he didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but that’s… The way he is with the Speaker of Dawn,” Arbiter said, clearing her throat, and mumbled, “He spoils him too much.”

“Is it true he’s held captive in Eden most of the time?” Lucifer asked surprised spoiling could be considered locking someone up.

She closed her eyes, smiling, and put a hand to her chest as if talking of her own child.

“We never meant to punish him, and captivity isn’t the right word. It was Helel’s decision, but I don’t believe he wanted to cage him either.”

For a moment, she remained silent and pensive. If she ever showed emotion, it was a saintly melancholy, and that situation seemed to pain her. An idea flickered in her gaze, and she looked Lucifer straight in the eyes, freezing him on the spot.

“Providence led you to Sandalphon, and fate will follow its path, whatever Helel does…” she said, a bit somber, before catching up with a shake of her head. “I mean, Lucifer, would you please visit him from time to time?”

That was out of the question! He’d have taken his precious free time in Eden to relax, but that whirlwind somewhat… Intimidated him. He couldn’t even put words to it, but each one of their encounters made him too happy.

“The Speaker of Dawn is dealing with an unprecedented crisis in Etemenanki and has no time to spare for his darling Cupid. I am aware of how busy you are, but consider it a benevolent service to the Almighty, for his beloved child.”

“But, Your Eminence,” Lucifer tried, “I am same as busy as him on the battlefield, and my only competences lie there. I have only bloody tales to tell.”

For once, a broad, unrestrained grin appeared on Arbiter’s face, “Oh, believe-me, Lucifer,” she assured, “Helel Ben Shalem outmatches you, and it doesn’t scare him one bit.”

***

“You forgot to ask Arbiter for an audition with me?” Azazel lamented as people in chains made their way past them.

A woman dragging her feet, greasy dark hair dangling as she swayed, glanced at Lucifer, and he saw more resignation in her eyes than anger. It was empty and dark like she was gazing pensively into the abyss. They had put that situation upon themselves, he thought, swallowing down an uncomfortable sensation, their destination in sight.

“I’m sorry. I lost myself in our negotiations,” Lucifer said, looking away from the woman, “But you didn’t tell me why you wanted to consult her either. Is there anything I could help you with?”

“I’m just…” Azazel hesitated, looking around them like a criminal about to confess, “Doubting,” he explained, whispering for once.

They followed the small group of chained humans, led by other humans with sticks.

Azazel narrowed his eyes. Lucifer felt a slight alarm at his unusual silent attitude. “Azazel…” he whispered, “What we’re doing is right. You shouldn’t ever doubt it, lest you—”

“I get it,” Azazel scoffed and shook his head, alarm appearing on his face as well, “I mean, pardon me, General! I’m crossing the line again! Please, punish me the way you find fit!”

Lucifer’s foot got stuck on a rock, and he stumbled and fell. Azazel reached out a helping hand, a few of the chained humans laughing at him without restraint. He was an executant, not a punisher, even less for a Lieutenant trying to open up to him! Oh, how he despised that constant feeling of unequal footing. The Lieutenant couldn’t be his friend, and he shouldn’t ever become his confidant. It wasn’t possible in their position.

“Please don’t punish me by hurting yourself,” Azazel whispered, and Lucifer didn’t quite understand what he meant and was too ashamed of himself to feel anything about it.

They arrived at their destination, a wooden platform for the entire village to admire. Freshly cut hay and wood were bunched together on top for the count of heads they were bringing. The humans chained the other humans to the stakes, and a few struggled, not so resigned as they first acted.

“The Lord will have you for this!” one of them shouted, slapped in the face to shut up by one of his executioners.

“There is only one Lord,” Lucifer retorted, “And you defied him with your black magic and pagan practices! You are now bound to Demons, and only fire can purify your souls. If anyone of you isn’t marked, renounce your faith in Satan, and you shall be forgiven.”

Lucifer wasn’t surprised none of them answered, or babbled frightened gibberish. Humans were all like that; stubborn, greedy, and power-hungry. The Devil took them by his sweet words and promises against their souls and allegiance, but only gave them suffering in return.

If those people hadn’t followed Satanic rites, hadn’t turned their women into witches, hadn’t corrupted their children and brought despair upon the region, none of this would have happened.

“What is your proof?!” the woman from earlier suddenly shouted, triggered by the first flicker of fire. “We are all ill, crippled, or half-smart! How could we have done any of the feats? Do you seriously believe us the source of this curse?!”

“You're eloquent enough to recite incantations, woman,” one of the men in the public shouted.

She glared at the gathering villagers at the bottom of the platform. They weren’t impressed, just smiling and nodding like people would at madmen who made no sense.

“That you talk this way to a Seraph is proof enough, your mind belongs to Satan! Shut-up, you crazy woman!” Another of the villagers shouted, throwing a stone Azazel caught in flight. His glare was enough to pacify them.

Lucifer took out a small carving the villagers had given him and approved by Arbiter. “This,” he said, “Was inside the first victim’s throat. It’s a mark of the devil. Families have been falling one after another ever since that first case.”

“They killed Will and Blanco, and their friends! Then that happened!” a man drawled, struggling as a torch approached.

Someone whispered those were the names of his cats. His house was full of them before, but they spread ill omens and brought bad luck. The village council decided to eradicate those pests.

The man lowered his head, whining apologies, which meant nothing to the Almighty. Lucifer’s wings felt heavy, dusty, molten. Those people looked so pathetic, all they could do was cry and stare at the nearing executioners. He didn’t want them to burn.

“Arbiter’s orders are absolute. Are you still rejecting the word of God?” Azazel asked, running to his superior’s defense, while it really wasn’t necessary.

What had gotten over him? Was he angry at those heretics for their blasphemy? His fists were clenched so tight, they were trembling. He glanced at the torches. One of the free humans nodded approvingly, went to Lucifer, and handed him a torch.

“So, do as you must, O Arch Seraph, and lead those lost souls into purification, and free our village from the curse.”

Azazel suddenly snatched the torch from Lucifer’s hands, glowering at the human. “Know to keep your place, and never order our General around like you’re entitled,” he growled, and the man shrank back, trembling and apologizing.

The Lieutenant’s shoulders sagged just a bit when he realized what responsibility he put over them. He turned back to Lucifer, and said, “Punish me later for this question if you must, but do you think I’m doing the right thing now?”

There was no question in that. “Absolutely,” Lucifer replied.

He was unable to watch them or Azazel while they burned.

***

He smelled of coal. No matter how many times he showered after that incident, he still reeked of fire. The humans might have cursed him, Lucifer thought, sniffing at his arm while he made his way through Eden.

Someone had been following him, stalking him like a small animal. He knew who it was, one long brown lock sometimes bouncing out of the bushes like a shark’s fin out of the water. Lucifer had gone to the garden to somehow, he wondered how, entertain that cupid, and maybe this was the right way to start.

He didn’t know where he was going. Providence, pardon the wording, was a lie when it came to such encounters; there was no way he could have found the greenhouse Arbiter told him about without directions, but he had none. Like a child lost in the woods, he’d spent the past few hours prancing around in Eden, trying to lure in the timid angel which otherwise fled him.

Were they playing catch? If Lucifer approached, Sandalphon hid, and when he tried to leave, the other pursued. Even if it didn’t entertain Sandalphon, it most certainly did Lucifer. He felt a flutter of excitement each time they'd be a hair from bumping into each other.

Still, that reek of fire wouldn’t leave his lungs, and he felt embarrassed the cupid might be tracking him by his scent. Then, as he was sniffing, he caught a whiff of something sweet. Fruits, maybe? Berries? Distracted by that smell, he made his way between the trees, followed by the brown lock.

It seemed Providence led him to the greenhouse after all, but he still didn’t find where that sweet smell came from. He went around the large white building and found several buckets filled with round and red berries.

He suddenly heard a female voice, a woman groaning to herself and pestering.

“Fuckin’ giving me all the work! I crush heretics with my feet, not grapes, and their freaking seeds! Take this, seedy heretic grape, and Sandy will have to thank me! That fool better had a good reason to…”

Lucifer peeked into what seemed to be a storehouse. There were plenty of buckets of ‘grapes’ stored on large shelves, and in the middle, a small woman inside bucket larger than the others, stomping her feet and jumping. The juice trickled through a hole into another container.

“Oh, hi Lucifer,” the Speaker of Dusk, Helel ben Shalem said, keeping on stomping and not minding him much.

She could differentiate him from Sahar without the bat of an eyelid. The mighty Inquisitor didn’t have to bow down to him, neither did she to any, not even her sibling. Her black clothes were drenched with juice, sticking to her thin legs.

“Do you know where the brown himbo went? Yanno, Sandy,” she threw over her shoulder, “I’m gonna make him drink this wine!”

Lucifer replied, angelic, “I have been looking for him too.”

He’d felt Sandalphon’s presence dissipate as if he’d run away as soon as he heard her threats. Shalem’s anger wasn’t to be taken lightly.

“Well, find him!” she ordered, stomping harder, the bucket shaking with her strength, “I’m tired, and my feet hurt! That, unless you want to help me?”

“I’ll find him!” Lucifer said, taking it as an opportunity to slip away.

He’d never walked so fast in his life. What a shock to see the Speaker of Dusk work such a lowly task! If she could, she’d have servants feed her, carry her around. Everyone bowed down at her passage, humans called her a Goddess, and she was entitled to step on Lucifer if she wanted to.

Lucifer gave up on finding Sandalphon, too tempted to sit down and open a book under another tree, which looked even more comfortable than the last. Like most in the area, it had a few round, purple fruits on top and at its foot.

Still, that stench of burning meat tingled at the tip of his nose. It just wouldn’t get out of his clothes, Lucifer thought, sighing in annoyance. Something was above him, and it slithered, surprising him as it crawled down.

A giant, white snake with yellow eyes was staring at him, dangling from a branch!

“Nahash, down!” someone shouted, something cracked, and distracted the monster which quickly crawled away as if sensing danger.

Down came the cupid. He fell flat, on his back in front of Lucifer, and fruits from a horn of abundance he'd been carrying poured over him.

Lucifer held his book against his chest, shocked.

Sandalphon first pressed his eyes together, and smiled, trying to make the best of the situation by taking a pose, hand under his head as if he were only taking a nap, and winked at the Arch Seraph.

“Hey there, Lucifer…” he said, slightly stretching, his voice quivering and biting his lip as his cheeks slowly turned crimson.

That probably hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ART (by me: https://twitter.com/NANO74546347/status/1212128478923022336


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized there's a tag for separation anxiety, and there's a bit of it at the end of this chapter. It comes from experience, but I don't have a beta to tell me if it might be triggering, so I prefer adding a warning here.

Helel ben Shalem was the Speaker of Inquisition, Goddess feared by all heretics, not freaking Dionysus, God of wine! Neither was Sandalphon, nor the Archangel of Coffee, or gardening, or inventions. Yet, he somehow managed to develop all those things in his greenhouse.

Sandy was supposed to be a Cupid, look like a chubby child and shoot little love arrows, or so was the stereotype. But, no, the Almighty made him a hunk like his fallen predecessor Eros, and there she was, Helel Ben Sahar’s worshipped sister, stomping grapes for well over an hour, just for his pretty face!

What kind of Goddess even slaves for a cupid? He was too scared of Arbiter’s wrath to practice with his harmless toy weapon on Shalem. It was simple; she loved grape juice, and he promised her a barrel against her help.

Now it was going to cost him two barrels, and the horn full of apples he was carrying. Noticing he was limping and his back hunched, she forgot the barrels and the hour of work. There were scratches on his arms and legs as if he had fallen from a tree. She glared at Lucifer, suspicious.

“Sandy, whaddya wanna do with those apples?” she asked, forgetting her anger altogether, replaced with concern she’d never admit.

“Same as with the grapes,” he replied, “I want to make my housemade cider.”

“You’re gonna waste all that good apple juice?!” she almost cried, “D’ya want me to crush them with my feet for you too or somethin’?”

Nothing made her angrier than wasting apples, the gift of the gods, one of the rare earthly joys she could recognize as worthy of her standing.

“Hah, you think little of my research! These are too sour to make into juice,” he replied, trying to stand a bit straighter, but hunching up again with a hiss, Lucifer leaning towards him with a furrow on his brow.

Oh right, Archangels had a set of different customs from earthbound Gods. Was he frowning because he was upset Sandalphon didn’t present his wings or was he concerned? Either way, she needed to know who had sent him and why. If it was Sahar hoping for a replacement, she was going to beat his sacred ass. There was no escaping his duty.

“In case you didn’t notice, this ain’t—” she started, but the little brown-haired shit snorted, interrupting Her Eminence with no shame.

“How could I confuse them again? It was a moment of weakness. May I remind you Sahar hasn’t visited in eons? Is this going to turn into a thousand years until I can hold him again?”

Lucifer tilted his head to the side, his furrow creasing deeper, looking as if he were analyzing contradictory information. Well, yes, chum that was it; celestial lovers, and that cutie there was all kissy lovey-dovey with the Speaker of Dawn whenever they got together. Some puritans like Arbiter looked down on such a relationship, but a Cupid couldn’t survive without receiving any love and care. On the opposite end of the spectrum, Archangels were supposed to remain… Indifferent. Any other cupid would have wilted like a thirsty little flower, but this one was as sturdy as a vine.

“Hey, Arch Seraph,” she called, and the expression vanished from his face as he stood stiff like a saluting statue.

Ah, what misery, always inducing such fear, she thought, so she asked, in a voice, she believed softer, “Who sent you here and why?”

Before he could reply, she added, “I hope it isn’t Sahar, because if he’s dumping his responsibility—”

“None of that,” Lucifer replied, “It’s the—"

“Shalem!” Sandalphon groaned, and his further hunching stopped her in her tracks. He was rubbing the back of his shoulders, biting his lip. “He’s my guest for today. Isn’t that enough of an explanation?”

“Nope,” she hummed.

“Seriously!” Sandalphon slapped his palms to his side, “As much as I respect you and the rules in this Garden, he’s come all the way here, and we owe him some hospitality!” That beaten puppy expression on his face that she couldn’t stand.

She sighed, “Fine, just this once. C’mere, it’s almost done,” she said, beckoning Sandy with a wave of her hand.

As Mister Arch Seraph watched Sandy climb in, not lifting his sacred dainty little finger, observing them somber and arms crossed, she decided to put him to work.

“You’re taking my place,” she ordered, pointing down into the press.

“Me?” Lucifer asked, his wings folding in his back.

“Who else d’ya think I’m talkin’ to? Nahash, there?”

Lucifer just then noticed the gigantic white snake slithering at his feet and jumped with surprise. Oh, this was going to be a fun target to tease.

If there was one hobby she enjoyed, it was slightly bullying eminent figures of Heaven. The mightier they believed themselves, the funnier it was to make them uncomfortable and squirm. Sandalphon glared at her, but he couldn’t do anything about it, could he?

She was about to step out when Sandalphon pulled her dress with one violent swing of the shoulders. She slipped and fell back, splat flat into the juice. That cocky bastard of a Cupid laughed, not expecting to receive a handful of grapes into his face. He tried to return the favor, but nobody, not even him, could offend the Speaker of Inquisition in such a shameless way without facing terrible consequences!

“I’m gonna dye ya purple, brat!” she roared.

“Bring it, bitch!” he retorted.

“Wait, please, stop!” Lucifer cried, or something like that, she didn’t care.

They were like feral beasts wrestling in the winepress, foot in face, arm lacing under the leg, under an arm, hand in hair. Sandalphon might not have looked like it at first glance, but he had no more mercy than Shalem. Every dirty trick, every tiny opening, and each advantage he could get, he took. He sent her into the juice again and again until her hair was wet and dripping and until her clothes couldn’t be saved anymore, and his white toga dyed red.

The Arch Seraph acted on instinct, trying to grab Sandalphon and pull him out. That was the wrong choice, because trying to separate them, he became their common scapegoat. He was strong alright, real strong, but Shalem matched him, dragging him into the press.

Those beautiful white wings were dyed purple and red, and while they weighed a lot, both Shalem and Sandy were soon over him. If someone had sent him to take over Sahar’s duty, he was in for a long, exhausting struggle when the infernal pair was together. Their wrestling game was incidental but could serve as a suitable warning.

As tangled as they all were between Lucifer’s wings, Sandy’s toga sash, and Shalem’s hair that fell to her feet, they ended up in a bind, almost unable to move. Sandy was giggling, giggling so hard that Shalem couldn’t hold back anymore either.

At first, Lucifer stared at them agape. That only made them both laugh harder, almost rolling on themselves inside of the press.

“My goodness Sir Arch Seraph, your wings are so red!” Sandalphon said, snorting, his face flush with laughter.

Lucifer looked at his wings and rolled his eyeballs. He then looked at Sandy’s face and listened to him laugh, still stunned mute. His mask melted, and he blushed, smiling.

“They are, indeed,” he said.

By the gods, then it was Sandalphon who stopped laughing and was staring at him as stupidly as the other did before. Maybe that’s what made Lucifer break into a burst of hearty laughter, as if ropes holding his chest together had snapped, and suddenly, he had so much air, he didn’t know what to do with it, so he laughed, and laughed, as light as helium.

The three of them laughed, the argument forgotten and over.

***

“I’m counting on you; nothing impulsive,” Shalem said, as if she already suspected Sandalphon of offending their guest, while his sole intention was to make up for pulling Lucifer into the winepress.

No spell of the Arch Seraph nor dose of ether seemed to clean the juice away. Maybe it was because they were fruits from the Garden of Eden, reputed to dirty, even celestial bodies. Whatever reason, they couldn’t let their eminent visitor leave stained red from head to toe, so Sandalphon came up with this suggestion; help him clean his wings with the water of the sacred thermae.

Long ago, when the first couple of humans still walked in the Garden, the Almighty had given them all the necessities for a mortal life, including hygiene. He hoped to see them have children, and have humanity thrive in the Garden, away from temptation and evil. That plan failed, but their thermae remained. 

Sandalphon entered the water, his clothes drying near a column on dry ground. When the warm water licked his back, and it prickled terribly, Sandalphon felt self-conscious. Not presenting his wings was vulgar, but he couldn’t do anything about it, the burn too strong. Letting them out would have felt like cutting through flesh, even though he was nothing but celestial energy manifested.

“That looks painful. What happened to your back?” Lucifer asked, and his entry into the water with his six wings stirred the entire basin and incidentally slapped against a squeaking Sandalphon’s deep scratches.

“Mh, scars get inflamed sometimes,” he said, seeing it as an ordinary and necessary inconvenience. It wasn’t like he usually went into the water so soon after his occasional ritual. “Pardon me, but I’m unable to take my wings out.”

“I can see that,” Lucifer said, sinking into the water, sitting against one of the basin’s walls. His wings peeked out like six white fins. He wasn’t able to move much, weighed down by their pull.

Small strands of red escaped the many feathers. It seemed the water was adequate. He was going to need some help to accelerate the process. Lucifer seemed relaxed, thoroughly enjoying the moment of silence they shared, listening to the water, to the birds of the Garden sing. They were in the most ancient place in Paradise, not a soul to disturb them, not even Shalem, who was taking her bath in another basin.

“I had a lot of fun,” Lucifer said, his eyes still closed, “It’s a shame I won’t be allowed to come back.”

“Don’t listen to Shalem,” Sandalphon said, combing his hair back with his hand.

Lucifer opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow. Sandalphon knew he was a selfish, spoiled brat, but how long did Sahar intend to hold him captive without any explanation? How was he supposed to endure his situation without even knowing its purpose? He didn’t believe he deserved that sacred garden to himself.

“Shalem’s just overprotective. I’m sure it would take a weight off Sahar’s mind,” he said, feeling a knot tie in his throat.

“Maybe if I knew why you’re supposed to remain alone, then I could make my own opinion and decide if I should insist,” Lucifer said.

The Cupid leaned towards the Arch Seraph, amazed. Angels didn’t usually have a free will, but this one seemed unique. Sandalphon also had that rare capacity to think for himself, draw a conclusion, and act upon his decisions and desires. Arbiter called that a fault in the younger generation, due to the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil he guarded. It was just a stupid fruit tree, and whatever unforgivable crime the humans had committed wasn’t eating from it.

“They never told me. Helel, I mean Sahar, said it was better for me to never know why. It would only cause me strife. Not like it doesn’t make me curious, heh…”

“And you accept that fate?” Lucifer asked, as if freedom of expression was something granted in Heaven as if he hadn’t struggled, cried, prayed, begged, fought, and complained at first.

Sandalphon dipped his hair into the water. Short red trails shaped around his neck, and he let himself float, finding fun in his weightlessness.

“How could I refuse? Anyway, I think Father sent you to me for a reason.”

“I don’t believe in Providence,” Lucifer sighed, and the gall of his statement in an as sacred place as Eden made Sandalphon shiver and look at the sky. “Arbiter’s orders were to keep you some company while Helel Ben Sahar’s busy handling a crisis. She’s worried about your well-being.”

Sandalphon snorted, wondering what her real intentions were. “What nonsense! Aren’t you something like the General of all Archangels? Would you go as low as keeping a meaningless Cupid such as I company? Couldn’t she have sent someone else, like, another Cupid?”

Lucifer grunted, scratching his head, and bluntly honest, he said: “I don’t have more freedom than you…” Sandalphon was almost hurt, until he said, “But the fact you’re under the Speaker’s direct protection means you must be more important than you know.”

“Then my importance makes me captive,” Sandalphon said with a meek smile, “but regardless, let me convince you to come back! For starters, how about I help you get all that dirt out of your wings? Just dipping won’t do it.”

Sandalphon didn’t know the customs of Angel society in Paradise if such an invitation was acceptable or not. At no other time in his existence had he questioned his way of acting, the way Sahar treated him, but the newcomer’s presence raised all kinds of questions. Lucifer seemed skeptical, fumbling at one of his longer feathers.

“I guess it’s going to be hard all by myself,” he mumbled, standing up, and showing his back.

Sandalphon held his breath when the Arch Seraph’s power coursed through his hands and his arms, much more aggressive than the one held in Sahar’s wings. Ether swirled and sparked around his practiced hands as he preened the feathers one by one, delicately, carefully, ignoring when his muscles tightened at the regular bolts of energy.

Lucifer kept looking away or down, his eyes closing on occasion. It was as if he were holding his breath, his arms crossed tight. It couldn’t have been painful for him, at least he said it wasn’t, keeping stoic but firmly seated. Sandalphon had done it thousands of times and was confident it could even be pleasurable. The Arch Seraph showed no sign of what he felt. Washed, they twinkled and shone like opals, a rainbow of purples, golds, and pinks, but were as soft as cotton.

The basin was colored faint purple and red by the time they were done with washing, but there was some work left to do. Lucifer didn’t crane his neck back to watch once and remained silent all along, Sandalphon too concentrated on his task to mind or strike a conversation.

Clothed in clean garments, they then sat on a fallen-over column, and Sandalphon helped them dry, brushing them through with a comb he kept on site. The dryer they became, the fluffier and more tempting they were to dig into, but Sandalphon resisted. Just the surface, gently, respectfully, tame.

By the end of his care, they were shining more beautifully than ever, and Lucifer’s head was dipping down. His sleepy eyes were rather cute, and Sandalphon, led by habit with Helel, stroked his cheek with the back of his hand.

“I’m done,” Sandalphon said.

It’s Lucifer’s delayed flinch, which brought Sandalphon back to Eden, and it felt like he’d crashed onto his back again. Was that a misstep?

He was about to apologize when Lucifer nodded quickly and said, “Thank you very much for your help! I must take my leave immediately. I haven’t noticed the sun is setting, and I have a lot of work left to do!”

“Uh, p-please, come back,” Sandalphon muttered.

The Arch Seraph suddenly stood up, and hurried away, leaving Sandalphon stumped and still holding his comb. He’d definitely done something horribly wrong.

Was Lucifer ever going to return? Sandalphon had behaved almost exactly as he did with Sahar and Shalem and didn’t know better. He was a naïve, awful, uneducated Cupid with no manners. Sandalphon scratched his arm, and it prickled a bit, but not enough. His back burning and heart heavy, Sandalphon dragged himself back to his home.

It was a simple but comfortable little house, on which he grew flowers and different decorative vines with care and love. To each ‘season,’ its own colors and that season was red. Sahar often compared it to a fairy house, all wood and vegetation. Angels didn’t need sleep, he rarely ever slept, but it was a comfortable space to read and rest and pray. He was going to the small altar in his bedroom to clear his mind.

Just as he sat down and pulled a drawer open to take his prayer material, Shalem came running, calling his name through the entrance door. It sounded urgent.

“What is it?” Sandalphon asked, standing up, wobbly on his legs from his prolonged uncomfortable position on the column. It’s only after walking he’d noticed how numb they were.

She noticed Lucifer wasn’t around anymore, and seemed relieved by his absence, sighing and bent on her knees. She led him to the place he always got the bad news; the little gazebo where he first served Lucifer coffee.

Seated, Sandalphon braced, ready for whatever was to come, expecting Lucifer’s discontentment to have reached Arbiter’s ears. He couldn’t take much more on his back, and if he wasn’t in control…

“Something’s fishy up there,” Shalem said, the type to go straight to the point, no matter how brutal it was.

Was it brutal this time? Sandalphon wasn’t sure. The way she said it was almost comical, but she didn’t seem to be joking. ‘Up there’ was Etemenanki, where Sahar listened to the Almighty. It could have been a bad omen.

“I decided it’s time to see what my foolish brother’s doing,” she said. “Dunno how much time it’s gonna take.”

It was the usual bad news, and Sandalphon sighed. He could deal with solitude. There was no way Lucifer was ever going to return. Only that thought hurt a bit, a hope for companionship with someone who could tell him more about the world. A General certainly knew many exciting things about mortals, demons, and such things. It would have allowed him to escape his golden cage, at least in imagination.

Shalem’s expression softened, glancing at his fidgeting, cold, and sweaty hands. Sandalphon didn’t need that sorry look, he could deal with himself, with the solitude. Being alone wasn’t a big deal, he would talk to the doves, to the flowers, to Nahash, to himself, in the empty house, for the Almighty knows how long. The shadows didn’t scare him, they couldn’t harm him. But why then, why was it slightly harder to breathe, why did he want to tell her to stay? He was a big boy, he could deal—

Shalem was hugging him tightly, petting his head, and he resisted the urge to hug her back, stiff, indifferent, split in two.

He was going to be perfectly fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who subscribed! I'm honored.


	4. Chapter 4

“Er… Lucifer-sama?”

A hand waved in front of Lucifer’s face. Goodness, he’d been daydreaming again! Back straight, gaze, sharp, wings, up! Flap!

“Wow!”

Azazel had quickly stepped aside. Lucifer held in a sigh; even his wings weren’t following his commands anymore. He’d thought up, not extend! What had that Cupid done to his wings? How could he even think about anything else than work while on a mission?

He’d been thinking of _that_. He was unable to think about anything else than _that_. Thank goodness this day’s mission wasn’t supposed to include a battle, just an investigation; a small mountainous village said to be haunted by an evil spirit.

Maybe it was the smell of shit and famine that brought him back to that thermae, in a manner it shouldn’t. No, he was supposed to accept how hard his work was, and remain indifferent to worldly misery. Humans had brought their world upon themselves, and all the angels could do was protect them from demons.

“Did your special appointment the other day go bad or something?” Azazel asked, as his mind had drifted to the thoughts he was trying to avoid.

The shame! Shamelessness rather, on his part. It wasn’t Sandalphon’s fault at all. It was common for angels to help another preen their feathers, even more, when they had as many wings as his. Still, nobody had ever touched Lucifer before, the Arch Seraph always taking care of them alone. Sandalphon was the first to hold his hand, to caress his face, and shortly after, his wings, the most sacred body part of a Seraph. Sandalphon knew nothing about their customs, but Lucifer hadn’t stopped him the way he should have. A few words would have been enough.

Now Lucifer was remembering Sandalphon's touch every time he started feeling tired. Pleasure was one of the foundations of temptation. Helping starving children was supposed to encourage him to exterminate evil and give them a future, not to have Sandalphon’s hands inside of his wings!

“Hello?”

By the Almighty! “I might have troubled my host,” he said, probably more troubled than the Cupid.

He’d not even properly thanked Sandalphon for his help, only noticing the sunset because of the dimming light on the Cupid's pretty face.

“Hm, I guess you must be a bit intimidating to a shut-in prince,” Azazel shrugged, far from the point.

No, if anyone was intimidated, it was Lucifer. He wanted to return, to see Sandalphon and apologize, tell him everything he had to know and start off anew with another coffee, but… What if he was tempted to play along, and just went with the flow? Where would that bring him? Into Sandalphon’s feathers?

“Oh, by Zeus, you’re glowing! You got it bad!”

Why was Azazel laughing at him while he was miserable? Even the humans were watching. “Behave in front of mortals,” he whispered, and that immediately calmed his Lieutenant.

They both tried hard to keep looking serious, so hard, Azazel was struggling not to snort. The Almighty forgive them, they weren’t worthy. People were terrified by an evil entity, and all they could do was bite their inner cheeks and stomp when it became too hard to not burst in laughter.

When at last they were out of the human’s sight, at the back of a small hill giving on a graveyard, Lucifer asked, “What do you mean, I got it bad?”

“Puppy love,” Azazel said, now seeming somewhat concerned.

“The _what_?”

“I’m not sure what it means, but it’s supposed to come from a Cupid’s power, but there’s no way in Heaven he’d touch a Seraph, hah!”

Azazel seemed confident, but he was completely wrong; that Cupid hadn’t hesitated a second before digging into his feathers, and Lucifer had enjoyed it too much.

“We don’t catch anything else than curses, Azazel, we’re immortal,” Lucifer said, dubious.

Azazel was spouting silly things again, but the situation seemed to amuse him, so whatever.

“Yeah, but more seriously, be careful about their arrows. We can’t afford to have a lovestruck, distracted General with a boss like Arbiter,” Azazel warned.

Lucifer was aware of the power of Cupids. Then, was it that? Had Sandalphon pricked him with an arrow while preening him? What kind of vile creature would do such a thing? Lucifer felt insulted, disappointed, and embarrassed. That made perfect sense! 

“Wow, your wings!” Azazel laughed, pointing at them.

They’d fluffed up like a furious cat’s fur but were still glowing brighter than ever. Sandalphon had done a beautiful job at cleaning them. Everyone, even in Heaven, was ogling at the Arch Seraph more than usual. Lucifer felt heat rush up his cheeks. Yes, it was definitely a spell. In his knowledge, an Archangel couldn’t obsess on a person.

“How do I get rid of such a curse?” Lucifer asked, swearing to himself he’d never return to that treacherous place, and fall for such blatant temptation.

Azazel seemed stumped and thought for a moment, hand on his chin. “Puppy love lasts about a year, and then the magic’s gone. A little girl told me about it, because her mommy used to repeat that. You know how children are; they talk about something, and when you listen, they think they know more than you!” he laughed, confident he knew more than that child.

Well, so Lucifer had to return to Sandalphon to complain and find a cure to that spell. He slapped both his cheeks as he felt happy about the opportunity. “Is there another method?” Lucifer asked, desperate.

“I heard talking with Arbiter cures all shape of misplaced enthusiasm,” Azazel whispered, lifting his eyes as if afraid the sky would fall down on them.

Lucifer had forgotten to ask her for an audience with Azazel again! Well, if she could cure him, and help Azazel, he had enough reasons to see her again.

***

“And so, you believe you have, uh, _puppy love_ because he put an arrow into your wings?” Arbiter asked, an eyebrow risen.

Her cup of tea had almost slipped out of her hand as she heard Lucifer’s concerns. She’d glanced up to the right, keeping its rim against her lips, as if to cover an emotion. Colour had risen in her otherwise pale cheeks.

“Have you seen a glowing arrow? Did he take out a bow?” she asked.

“Uhm, it felt like he was only preening my wings.”

“Oho, this concern asks for drastic measures!” she said, and he thought he saw the shadow of a smirk on her face.

Once their teatime over, Lucifer followed Arbiter, who stood on a floating platform. Her long white dress and hair flowed after her as the speed of the platform picked up. They flew below high sapphire arches, through long glowing alleyways of gold, platinum, and bronze. A few buildings stretched up to the skies, as if reaching to the Almighty. Throngs of people, all divine manifestations, hurried along and above the roads in a flamboyant crowd of diverse shapes and sizes.

“The Hall of Archives,” Lucifer said, landing next to her as she stopped in front of an ovoid-shaped building.

Lucifer had gone there many times to rent books but hadn’t thought they’d kept weapons inside. It was a kind of museum and library, only partially open to visitors. Anyone could lend books there to learn about history.

Arbiter had quickly received the keys to the storage from the guardian, and they entered a room otherwise closed to the public. The roof was about as high as in the temple and as wide as the mass hall. Various small objects were organized in groups behind glasses, and the larger ones set in display boxes.

They arrived in front of a golden bow almost as tall as Lucifer. There wasn’t any arrow with it, just the bow set upright with its string. Lucifer observed the intricate carvings of chrysanthemum and cloves set in golden leaf, its elegant curves, spirals twirling at its ends. The cord glittered its colors like his wings. There was a crack at the base of the bow as if they were unable to mend it, but its disrepair seemed intentional.

“He couldn’t have carried something like that while preening me, and the arrow would have been too tall to miss,” Lucifer chuckled, somewhat embarrassed.

Arbiter’s gaze at that object was distant as if nothing of it, not even its beauty or the kindness of its aura, could reach her. Lucifer couldn’t hold back smiling, feeling its warmth reach and fill him. If Sandalphon had a parent, its wielder must have been a close one.

“This the bow of the Cupid’s former General, Cupidon. The spell of those arrows is potent enough for a God to give up on his immortality for the person he _wants_ ,” she warned. “You’d have stopped at nothing to keep Sandalphon for yourself if he had shot you intentionally.”

What was her point at telling him what he already knew? He had no desire of his own. Archangels couldn’t possess anything except their weapons to defeat evil. Was Sahar keeping Sandalphon captive because he was unreasonably infatuated? Was that what Arbiter was trying to tell him?

“Sandalphon is different from you, but he’s bound to Helel Ben Sahar. I can imagine how nice it must feel to be treated like someone special, but don’t fall for temptation. You have a higher spiritual purpose than a little nothing of a Cupid.”

Lucifer nodded unaffected by her implications. He’d never had desires, nor believed himself worthy of much attention. All he thought about was Sandalphon, and that had nothing to do with serving his interests. The only thing he wanted was to share another coffee in that lush garden.

“Speaking of injuries, he might have harmed himself after you left him so abruptly,” Arbiter hummed as if it was just an afterthought unworthy of much concern.

“H-harmed himself?!” The ground opened under Lucifer’s feet, as he thought of the ugly deep scratches on Sandalphon’s back.

“When his desires or loneliness are getting the best of him, he whips himself back to his senses and prays until he collapses. His devotion to the Almighty is admirable, but it’s become rather compulsive lately. You’d believe he’s a lonely lovebird, plucking his feathers out. How miserable!” she sighed, and Lucifer wasn’t sure if she was acting dramatic with a purpose or making fun of Sandalphon.

Several days had passed since he last visited, and there wasn’t going to be a day more until he returned, not a minute, not a second more.

***

“Helel… Helel…” Sandalphon giggled, on cloud nine.

Sahar’s hands were buried in his feathers, touching their base and treating their wounds. It prickled and stung a bit, but his hands were cold and soothing. Sandalphon was sitting on his lap, and Sahar had wrapped an arm firmly around his waist.

“I’m so sad when I see you suffering like this,” Helel whispered into his ear, before setting a small peck on his jaw.

It tickled, and Sandalphon wanted more. More of those strands of long golden hair on his shoulders, more of that tight, loving grip, more kisses, more caresses, more of everything of his beloved Sahar. He was drunk on Sahar’s love, drunk in happiness at that unexpected visit. He’d waited for so long, but at last, the interminable days alone were over.

He thought of when they’d drink coffee for the first time together, when they’d return to the thermae, of the long nights they’d spend just cuddling, when it was his turn for care, love, tenderness, and attention. The Almighty had replied to his prayers and sent Sandalphon’s beloved home.

“I missed you so much! Kiss me more!” Sandalphon cried while Sahar peppered kisses on his throat, all the same as short and ticklish.

“Sorry, so, so sorry,” Sahar whispered, holding him a bit tighter.

“Oh!” Sandalphon giggled, as he felt an adventurous hand crawl down the small of his back and settle on his behind.

His entire body was cold and healing. Sandalphon put his face against Sahar’s chest and hugged him tightly, rubbing his cheeks against the scaly skin, wrapping his legs around his long, long trunk.

“Sandalphon, watch out!” someone shouted.

Sandalphon opened his eyes and blinked. He was seated in the greenhouse and felt something cold, thick, and heavy coiled snugly all around him. Another pricklier object lay in his hand, and he felt the smooth petals of a flower under his fingers, crushed by the serpent.

He was making a flower crown in case anyone visited. Blue, glimmering flame-like shapes had appeared in front of his eyes, and then, Sahar was there and he couldn't remember what had happened before. It must have been the fault of his lack of ether, because of his wing’s terrible condition. A deep and wide hollow dug in his heart. It was all a dream!

“Nahash?” he mumbled, not worried one bit by his cuddly familiar until he noticed a large shadow was looming above them.

Lucifer was glaring at the snake, grimacing in rage blade drawn and arm lifted. She’d opened her mouth wide and was hissing at him, trying to protect her master.

He was about to kill them!

/>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was fast to write. The next chapter might take a bit more time.
> 
> I loved writing Azazel and Lucifer being idiots (Azazel at most).
> 
> My computer is going slow this evening, maybe updates or something going on, so forgive the typos or incompletely edited lines.


	5. Chapter 5

The trap had closed on the small group of angels, reunited in a locked section of the Grand Temple. It wasn't a reunion as announced; it was a surprise trial. The law of God applied, and his Voice had spoken. A red-headed Guardian Angel, less naïve than her colleagues, understood they were doomed before Arbiter even gave her sentence. That she'd managed to pass for dead and escape was a miracle in itself, so she believed the Almighty hadn't completely given up on her yet.

She threw anything she could in her path onto her tormentors and somehow managed to escape the secret hall, which served as an execution ground. The temple she'd fled stood to her left. In front, the gigantic Silver City. In a corner at the end of an alleyway, an open gate. Providence brought her to Eden.

Her pursuers were approaching, their armors clattering, voices calling her name as if she'd reply and lose what bones remained of her single naked and fleshless wing. They knew she had nowhere to run or to hide in Heaven, so she had two options; throw herself into the emptiness, through the portal to the mortal world, or run for as long as she could.

The Dominions most likely expected her to seek shelter in the crowd, but nobody would have saved or protected her, fearing the Almighty's wrath. Nobody did in the temple, no matter how loud some of her friends screamed in pain and begged for mercy.

She noticed the gate's key was still inside the lock. Her pursuers could have quickly flown over it and found her, but she locked it and took the key. A running and wounded Angel didn't stand a chance against an army of flying Dominions, but she was going to keep running until she collapsed, sure there was a mistake in Arbiter's judgment.

The greenery became a blur in her teary eyes, but she noticed ancient trees. Her chances of survival were higher beneath them. She ran, and ran, so earth-ridden it hurt her unused feet. The weight of the world was in the gravity pulling her down, her legs feeling heavier and heavier.

Salvation – there was a burrow in the stump of a tree tall enough to reach the sky. Her ears were buzzing so loud, if anyone was still pursuing her, she couldn't have heard them, but their presences felt distant. She was a pack of torn nerves, electrified, and half-crazy from pain, so any hole to die inside felt welcome.

Holding the key tight, she jumped in, embracing the darkness with gratitude as she crawled deep into the burrow under the tree.

***

"If I understand right," Lucifer was trying to braid the wires of the flower crown the way Sandalphon had shown him, without much success, "Nahash eats only fruits, but still coiled around you? That's predatory behavior to me."

Sandalphon sat cross-legged and frowning, hunched over his work, his ears red and features tense. "She does that when I faint. I have seizures sometimes." He didn't seem willing to clarify more, such a confession already embarrassing for an Angel.

Illnesses were rare amongst Gods and Angels, but some existed as part of the divine intent. Their Father's ways were mysterious, but Lucifer believed everything in an Angel served a purpose for good, even their illnesses or imperfections. Arbiter didn't have the same opinion, assuming the Almighty put the weaker ones through trials for absolution. To her, a suffering soul was once a rotten soul given a second chance. Lucifer secretly disagreed with that view entirely.

Sandalphon handed Lucifer tweezers to cut and bend the iron wire.

Nahash was basking in the sun on top of a rock in the greenhouse. Lucifer couldn't shake off the feeling she was eavesdropping on their conversation and judging him. She yawned, and her head settled again. Yawning snakes meant they were preparing for a meal, from what he read. Why would you leave an epileptic with a gigantic snake? Was Sahar that careless?

That wire went over this one, and the third down with a knot, then a flower here – Lucifer was no good at arranging flowers, and the cable was harder to braid than he'd first imagined. If he bent it too hard, it snapped, if he didn't, it wouldn't take the shape he wanted. They were working with blue lilies and decorative leaves and vines.

"Oh, Lucifer…" Sandalphon smiled, looking at the mess of a crown, and Lucifer hid his hideous creation in his back.

He was unable to achieve the shape, the delicate rhythm, and the balance of Sandalphon's creation. A Seraph wasn't meant for this kind of work, and couldn't offer a satisfying result, whatever the Cupid intended to do with it.

"Let me see." Sandalphon scooted closer, trying to take it out from behind Lucifer's back.

"It isn't worth showing. It isn't pretty!" Lucifer replied, holding it out of his reach, leaning back until the other almost crawled over him.

The Cupid snorted as Lucifer jumped to his feet, trying to keep it out of his sight. He'd already seen it from afar, but up close, it was even more embarrassing. The flowers lost a few petals, and some popped out on the wrong side.

"You're missing my point!" Sandalphon was hopping, trying to reach it without success. Little brown bunny, Lucifer thought, then shaking the strange thought out of his head.

"All I ever do is read books, so how should I understand the point of this?" Lucifer argued, hating his crown more and more, but anger not getting the better of him looking at that tiny Cupid struggle to take it out of his hands.

"Stop sneering at me from up there, and give me that crown!"

"No."

Suddenly, a sharp, unexpected pain flared in Lucifer's tibia. His amusement turned to confusion and shock. Wait… A Cupid had kicked him in the shin? Seriously, he dared? He let the crown fall in surprise. Sandalphon caught it and put it onto his head.

"It's beautiful, and it fits my head perfectly!" Sandalphon said, showing it off, not minding the lily drooping into his left eye.

Was he making fun of Lucifer? "It's still as ugly," Lucifer replied, vexed, "And that hurt!"

"You asked for it," Sandalphon said, "You're being an insufferable perfectionist and ruining your own fun!"

The nerve! Slowly though, Lucifer was getting accustomed to his irreverent attitude. "Sorry…" Lucifer mumbled, fearing his awkwardness was showing, while he must always leave a good impression.

Sandalphon cackled, cut short by pain, setting his hand onto a shoulder. Lucifer felt it in his wings as if he were injured, but it was all in his head. He wished he could do something to help Sandalphon soothe the pain, or stop hurting himself, but just like with the crown, he felt incompetent.

"Sorry I was mean. I love it, even if you find it ugly," Sandalphon said, his voice gentle.

A weight lifted from Lucifer's chest, but he still wasn't convinced. He'd rather have had that ridiculous thing thrown away than paraded around on Sandalphon's head. 

He offered Lucifer the beautiful crown he had made.

"Angels can't accept gifts, or own anything," Lucifer said.

Sandalpon looked down, holding the crown against his chest. "Then… Can I keep it here for you? You can wear it when you come back."

Lucifer felt like patting the Cupid's tousled fluffy hair to reassure him, but that would have been inappropriate. He couldn't act as freely and carelessly as Sandalphon.

"Let's have coffee next time," Lucifer said, "and the next, and the many times after that."

It took Sandalphon a few seconds to understand what he meant, and that he was serious. Was it that surprising that someone wanted to return to him? There were many things in his character Lucifer couldn't understand yet, but it was fascinating. Would Arbiter have called him imperfect? If that was an imperfection, it was charming.

"Will you make me some?" Lucifer asked.

"Yes!"

Solace reached Lucifer in the shape of a bright, beaming smile.

***

Days, maybe weeks had passed, or time had slowed down with the curse. The fallen Guardian Angel had lost most of her sanity and awareness for so long, she wasn't sure anymore.

Hunger, heat, fear, searing pain, so many things an angel never knew before had assaulted her in the darkness of the burrow. She saw luminous shapes flickering in front of her eyes, random geometrical patterns, sometimes things like insects or animals. The roots on which she laid felt like they were pulsating, veins in a gigantic body gasping, and the wood cracking with her twisting bones.

In between waves of agony, she thought of the sweet taste of a fruit, remembered the warmth of a body holding hers. What had become of her friend who disappeared a few days before her trial? If Arbiter had condemned Mirin because of her hedonistic dispositions, then be it, but what crime had they committed to deserve such torture? They hadn't harmed anyone.

After what felt like an eternity, at last, the pain stopped. She caught a whiff of rotting fruit. It wasn't the most appealing scent, but her stomach growled. A glutton's punishment was to feel starvation. This wasn't an angel's body anymore, said her claws, said her few black feathers, said her horns.

Maybe nobody was going to care, but if she died there and then, of hunger, dehydration or pain, then her friend's disappearance would have been meaningless. The Almighty didn't destine her to die! That thought pushed her back onto her feet, tumbling and hanging on the roots to stay upright.

Peeking out of the burrow, she noticed a basket full of plump, yellow fruits. The fresh ones were hanging so high, she'd have needed to fly to pick them up, but she was too weak. The owner of the basket wouldn't have noticed, or thought an animal had snatched it if she took only one, right? One crime leads to another anyway, right?

She crawled towards the basket, checking in every direction if an angel was flying nearby. Her stomach growled, her body weaker than ever, her hands trembling as she reached out. Sweet salvation, the golden, juicy end to her agony, was just a few inches away.

Something crawled on her leg. It was dry but cold and scaly. Her blood froze, and breath hitched. It was big and bulky. Slowly, painfully, she turned her head to whatever was coiling around her leg.

That white snake's head was the size of the fruit!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me a while because I was unsatisfied of this chapter until now. Writing another WIP aside from this one helped me to get over my writer's block, and I hope you enjoyed it. I love snakes, but must admit they're rather creepy.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For subscribers and people who follow this story, please read the endnote.

Arbiter Mortis had summoned Lucifer at the temple, and the first to greet him was the red-haired Archangel, introducing himself as the new lieutenant. Nobody had consulted or informed Lucifer before replacing Azazel by Michael.

“May I know what has led to such a sudden decision?” Lucifer asked, “Not that I don’t trust in Sir Michael’s competences. He’s proven himself one of our best soldiers on the battlefield, but this decision… Comes so suddenly,” Lucifer said, careful of his words.

“Azazel has been sharing doubts with his fellow soldiers recently, and it affected their morale,” Arbiter replied, but Lucifer had heard none of it. “The council agreed Sir Michael’s profile corresponds better to this position.”

She wasn’t going to tell him the details in front of Michael. Maybe it was the matter Azazel wanted to discuss with her, and he’d finally resigned. Azazel had insisted on consulting Arbiter Mortis in person, and Lucifer forgot to ask her each time. He’d failed his lieutenant.

“And is there anything new from Helel ben Sahar?”

Lucifer had been visiting Sandalphon after almost every mission for a few months. They’d meet under the gazebo in the garden for a coffee. Lucifer would tell him about his adventures, and Sandalphon would talk about his hobbies.

Arbiter’s lips narrowed, and she said: “If you prefer, I may send someone else to care for—”

“That’s not necessary,” he said so quickly he was surprised, “I enjoy spending time with Sandalphon, and believe he has a positive influence on my work.”

Arbiter shook her head and sighed. “The situation is complex. The Speaker of Dawn laments their separation just as much as Sandalphon does, but he must stay in Etemenanki until we understand the Almighty’s… Odd behavior. Shalem should return soon because her priorities are on earth.”

For a purely celestial being have a behavior was a strange concept to Lucifer. The Almighty hadn’t ever materialized and was said to be a type of energy that ruled the universe and timelines. Speakers could hear his “voice”, but they described it as an intuition so strong, they had a “belief”. It was the same for Arbiter: she _believed_.

Lucifer could only acquiesce in silence and receive his newest mission: kill a demon which took the shape of a young boy.

***

“You seem concerned,” Sandalphon said, setting a cup of coffee in front of Lucifer.

Had they spent such a long time together, he could read Lucifer’s emotions? Lucifer somewhat lost sense of time when they were together. The Arch Seraph believed he’d practiced stoicism enough for not even Azazel to be able to read some of his moods.

People tended to think he was indifferent. Maybe he was, to a certain extent. As long as he believed his battle righteous, no matter what suffering he inflicted, as long as it served the greater good and saved the lives of the faithful, he felt nothing. He had to destroy all evil on earth and bring peace to the righteous.

An odd human had appeared out of nowhere and stopped him from cutting the demon down and said what he was doing was wrong. The Knight kept standing between him and his target, saying that the beast was only an innocent child. He’d been so upset by that unyielding and surprisingly powerful opponent that he’d left without completing his mission.

Had Azazel gone through such doubt? Nobody, not even Michael knew where he went. It was as if nobody could also remember him, or valued him so little, they’d cast him aside. Angels didn’t retire and disappear, except if an enemy defeated him. Why wouldn’t have anyone warned him if it were the case? They couldn’t have cast him out, could they? Lucifer felt goosebumps rise on his skin.

“Lucifer?”

Sandalphon was frowning with concern. Could Lucifer be vulnerable around him, and tell him what bothered him so much? He knew the cupid wouldn’t ever tell Arbiter about their conversations, but he glanced at his brown wings. They were completely healed, a sign he wasn’t hurting himself anymore.

Sandalphon flicked his forehead, and he gasped in surprise.

“Snap out of it, and stop looking at me like I need protecting!”

“H-how could you—”

No other answer than a sly grin and a small flutter of the wings. “Cupids know. It’s just like that,” he replied, but then he took Lucifer’s face between his hands. It had been so long since he’d done something utterly inadmissible, that Lucifer accidentally knocked the coffee over with his wings. The cup broke, and Sandalphon didn’t flinch.

“Do you believe me so pure I wouldn’t have secrets of my own?”

“Y-you do?” Lucifer asked, thinking it sounded a little bit stupid, but distracted by the hands holding his face. Angels weren’t able to lie, but they could keep secrets.

Sandalphon’s grin was mischievous, but at his turn, Lucifer noticed his eyes weren’t quite smiling as much. Sandalphon let go of his face and glanced at the broken cup.

“I have many,” he admitted, “but they might as well all be very boring to someone from outside. Like… How I know that something’s been on your mind for quite a while, and you look lonelier than usual.”

That slightly stung, but it was true. It had taken Sandalphon’s observation for Lucifer to notice he’d felt a bit lonely as of lately. Time with Sandalphon helped him forget, but what had happened to Azazel? Michael was also a pleasant company, but something was missing. Since when had Lucifer become so readable, first for a human, then for a locked-in cupid who knew only three other people?

Sandalphon had kneeled down to pick up the broken bits of the cup, and Lucifer rushed down to do the same, distracted for too long.

“Have I offended you?” Sandalphon asked, three offenses too late, but adorable so.

“No, you’ve seen right through me,” Lucifer sighed. “A colleague of mine has gone missing, at least, I think. Nobody seems to know where he is or what he’s done, and I fear he might have fallen on the battlefield.”

Just for a moment, Sandalphon had stopped moving. He seemed dazed, his eyes looking into an imaginary distance.

“When?” he asked, “Do you know in which circumstances? Have they been to the temple before they disappeared?”

An uncomfortable foreboding sensation took over Lucifer. “Might you know anything?” Lucifer asked.

“Maybe,” Sandalphon replied, “I know someone who might know.”

Sandalphon knew someone? Was he talking about Sahar, Shalem, or Arbiter? That made no sense, given he wasn’t supposed to ever leave the garden, and only a few chosen ones could find the way in. Providence, the influence of the Almighty, led them there. Lucifer hadn’t ever noticed the gate before Sandalphon pulled him in.

“Could you bring me to that person?”

“They are afraid of Angels and were even afraid of me when we first met,” Sandalphon said, looking away and scratching the back of his head.

“Why didn’t you tell me anything?”

Sandalphon bit his lower lip and didn’t meet his gaze anymore. “The tree chose them, so I didn’t think they could cause any harm.”

“The tree? You trust a tree?”

Sandalphon’s brown wings drooped. “THE Tree,” he said, and as Lucifer still didn’t understand, Sandalphon grabbed him by the arm and pulled him along again.

“Promise you won’t raise your sword, or you might offend the Almighty in that sacred place,” he said, and his voice had a warning edge, which surprised Lucifer.

“What in the world are you hiding inside a tree?” Lucifer mumbled, but Sandalphon ignored him. Honestly, he’d rather have the cupid hold his hand than drag him along like a large dog.

They walked along long rubble pathways, below the trees. The thicket was so dense, light barely shone through the leaves. The path went downhill, and what felt like a maze. On what was Sandalphon relying upon to find his way? Instinct?

“Only chosen people can find that place, from what Arbiter told me. If ever harm came my way, Sahar told me to run to the tree for the Almighty’s protection. Whatever path we take will be the right one as long as it’s in the Almighty’s greater plan.”

Like many things in Eden, what Sandalphon said didn’t make much sense, but Lucifer took it literally. They walked for what felt like over an hour, through that dark forest which seemed to lead nowhere, until they reached a clearing.

It was still far away, but the tree was so tall and broad, it towered over the entire forest in the middle of the clearing.

“The Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil? Isn’t this a cursed place?” Lucifer asked, amazed as he craned his head back to admire the majestic branches which could have been paths of their own. An entire village could have lived atop and inside that tree.

“Nonsense!” Sandalphon laughed, “It’s just a place Sahar is bitter about… But I must keep his little secrets to myself,” he said with a grin.

They’d arrived at the foot of the tree. Sandalphon led Lucifer to a small tent and made the sign to stay silent.

“Mirin?” Sandalphon called, “Please don’t panic, but Lucifer’s here,” he said.

Someone shrieked in the tent, and seemed to roll, and almost knocked the tent over. “Are you freaking insane?!” It was a woman’s voice. “Don’t let him see me!”

Sandalphon frowned and crouched in front of the entry of the tent. “Why, Mirin? Why shouldn’t he see you?”

Lucifer reached for his sword, but let go as soon as Sandalphon showed his teeth.

“I’m… Naked! That’s it, I’m naked!” she giggled nervously.

“This is the place to be naked, so I don’t see the problem. Haven’t you kept the spare clothes I gave you?”

She let out a strangled squeak. Whatever Sandalphon said about that woman and the laws of this dimension and the tree, Lucifer felt suspicious.

“Sandalphon,” he interrupted while the cupid was still trying to negotiate with the entity inside of the tent, “Does she have horns and black wings?”

Both fell silent. “Mirin has horns, but she doesn’t have feathers, and her wings are damaged.”

Lucifer grabbed the handle of his sword again. Sandalphon kneeled right between him and the entrance.

“Come out, fallen one, and I shall be the judge of your fate depending on your motives,” Lucifer said, trying to keep a calm tone, but Sandalphon not moving an inch and staring him right into the eye.

“No blood shall be spilled in this sacred place,” Sandalphon said, and Lucifer hesitated.

Fear was growing in Sandalphon’s gaze. Lucifer couldn’t back down, not if a corrupted entity was infecting the most sacred tree of heaven. He must report to Arbiter immediately. The Arch Seraph couldn’t show any mercy to evil.

“Stop your nonsense, Lucifer! She has done no harm! She tended to my wings while I tended to hers. She’s my friend!” Sandalphon had started shaking, but he wouldn’t move out of the way.

“She is our enemy, Sandalphon. Don’t tell me she corrupted you too? If so, I’d have no other choice than to-”

“Hey, Lucifer!” Another woman called “Leave Sandy alone! For heck’s sake, I knew something was wrong!”

“Shalem!” Sandalphon stood up, and the woman in the tent squeaked again. Lucifer could imagine her curled up on the ground, feeling like all of heaven was attacking her at once.

“Sandy, you promised! You promised you’d not put me in danger, you liar!” Mirin cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will continue and end faster, but I feel like I owe my subscribers a little explanation of why it took so long.
> 
> I'm doing this for my pleasure as well as yours. I feel less pleasure writing as of late, and am stressing on minor details, including PERFORMANCE. From now on, I won't revise ten times before I publish. This fiction isn't a professional work, but a work of love. I love my stories, but I feel that lately, it's one-sided. Let me elaborate:
> 
> The recent lack of updates at the anniversary stream, but also on the December stream, lowered my motivation a lot. We didn't receive any clear updates on the fate of the angel stories, and we don't know if the Tower of Babel will be only Beelzebub-centric with a few dismissive flashbacks on still-dead-Lucifer. I couldn't care less about Lucio summer skin (though I love my himbo), but I'd like some development on the Helels. Will that event reach such a small expectation? I am a bit anxious t it might not. Their sloppy writing and manner of ending all the platinum male characters lately is grating on my nerves. Spaghetti Syndrome? It was acceptable until Cassius died.
> 
> Also, I notice I'm addicted to the game. It's taking too much of my time. I should be drawing, seeing people, doing other stuff, but... Well, if you're a very active player, and pay some attention if you play more than four hours a day, it's meant to be frustrating and addictive. I'm losing the love for GBF, but not for my own stories. Therefore, I'll end them because I feel they are worth that much.
> 
> So please bear with me, because it's continuing and ending. As for the future of the BEAST series, I'm not sure yet.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It might be a bit of a chaotic and fast chapter. If you don't understand something, don't hesitate to comment. Extra notes at the bottom of the page.

“There’s one thing I just can’t understand, Sandy,” Mirin said, her fists clenched on her thighs, holding back from crying out in pain while Sandalphon cleaned the dead skin on her injured wing. “How can you live like this?”

They were sitting near the thermae, on a patch of grass at the foot of an ancient mossy pillar. The prickling in her back was nothing compared to the flaring pain of Arbiter’s curse, which felt like it tore her in half. It had taken her months to get used enough to those long, annoying flares to sit and talk as if nothing were wrong.

Sandalphon knew about her curse and understood her situation from what she explained, left her space and time until she could handle the pain enough. After what felt like eons, at last, Mirin was ready to take care of her injuries. The curse was preventing her wings from healing properly, leaving her with some naked bones and dangling skin, all her torn nerves burning like hellfire.

Her question seemed to amuse him, a soft smile on his lips, his long lashes low as he kept his red eyes on the wings. “Oh dear, is it me you’re asking that question?”

She yelped as it stung. “Sorry, I know there’s a nerve here, but if I leave that bit, it won’t heal right,” Sandalphon said, soothing her with a brush of warm ether. He used some kind of magic unknown to her, which burned bits before healing them superficially. He didn’t use tools or even touch her, but his magic worked wonders, even when it was a bit painful.

“Are you a doctor?” she asked, and he giggled.

“No, but I know everything about wings. I live like this, fixating on hobbies and books. I’m sure your wings will be pretty when the feathers grow back.”

She wasn’t sure of that; Fallen Angel wings were ugly, bare for most and black. Her horns hadn’t scared Sandalphon. She doubted he had ever heard of Fallen Angels, given his lack of fear. Maybe he didn’t care as long as he wasn’t alone.

Sandalphon was a prisoner from what she understood, but he wouldn't admit it. Like any good angel, he obeyed the rules and didn’t seem to question his confinement. He had Eden for himself, a luxury for many. She’d also taken her rights as granted until Arbiter decided that it was a crime for an angel to have multiple sex partners and to eat too much cake.

The curse took so much energy that she’d hardly felt any desire since it began. Maybe it was strange for an angel even to think that way. In those short moments of respite, when Sandalphon took care of her, she ached for a hug. Just a gentle little hug, a pat on the head, some kind of warmth before everything became fire and ice again.

“Ngh!”

“Oh, sorry, did that hurt?” he asked.

No, she was fighting certain instincts, and her face was hot. “B-better end it now,” she tittered, trying to stand up. It had started feeling too good.

“Uhm, are you aroused?” he asked.

Holy Hell, what? She stared at him, and he looked perfectly neutral. How could an angel pick up so easily on something like that? They were alone, in a vast garden, she was so to say topless, and he was hot like… If only her wings could grow back, she’d fly away as quickly as possible.

“There’s nothing wrong in being aroused,” he clarified as if it were necessary and couldn’t embarrass her even more. “I’m sorry though, I can’t help you much,” he said, scratching the back of his head.

“I-I didn’t ask for that much!” she sputtered. Who was the devil between the two? Getting into the wings of an unsuspecting woman, then throwing that kind of invitation!

“Did I say something wrong? I’m quite isolated, and Lucifer also reacts like you when I do something strange,” he said.

“L-Lucifeeeer?!” she squeaked, “Y-you do st-strange things to The Lord Lucifer?!”

“I preen his wings after we’ve taken a bath, occasionally, and he blushes a lot,” he said.

Her mind was going to implode, imagining those two taking a b-b-b-bath together, those two Adonises, alone in the Garden of Eden. A shameless erotic scene was unfolding in her mind, and she imagined them as a couple probably naughtier than they’d ever been… Unless they were doing the nasty! She felt herself ascend.

“Your horns are blushing,” Sandalphon said, and it burned more than the curse. She wanted to jump into the water and sink so low he couldn’t see her anymore, but that was impossible in the shallow pool.

“Can’t two men have a bath together? Is that weird?” he asked.

Gods, she felt like hugging him, but she was half-naked. Should she? Was he gay? Was that what he meant with being unable to help her? Of course, a Cupid, an angel of love, would know about the birds and the bees, but—

“What in the world are you imagining?” he asked.

To Hell with manners! “Do you two smash?” she asked.

He blinked several times, and realization hitting him, he blushed. “Me? With Lucifer? I, er… No! I belong to Helel Ben Sahar,” he said as if he hadn’t made the revelation of the century.

The Speaker of Dawn had a pet waiting for him in the Garden of Eden! She couldn’t hold back laughing hysterically anymore. This world was insane! What had she fallen for, while Gods were frolicking with innocent angels?

“I-isn’t it wrong to have sex with angels?” she asked, teetering at the edge of a new flare-up.

“Sex?” Sandalphon frowned, and then he seemed to come to a realization. “We don’t have sex like mortals. I told you I couldn’t help you with that, because I’m not equipped.”

Wait… What again?

“Is that strange too? Cupids are agender. We might look more female or male in bone and muscle structure, but we’re not meant to reproduce. We're meant to spread love and the light of God.”

“B-but your statues have tiny dicks,” she mumbled, realizing how little she did know about Cupids.

“I don’t even have a tiny dick. Do you think a dick is necessary to give pleasure?” he asked, now seeming offended, “Is penetration everything?” He was frowning.

She couldn’t reply to that, too surprised and petrified to even process what he was saying. He, or she, now Mirin wasn’t even sure of Sandalphon’s pronoun anymore. Should she have used ‘them’ as a pronoun?

“Gendered entities are just like Sahar described them,” Sandalphon sighed. “Gimme your wings, and I’ll show you something amazing. I’ll be gentle,” he said.

She’d have been hypocritical to refuse under the means she was preserving herself for marriage, and hell yes, she wanted to give him her wings and feel that particular kind of pleasure, but it wasn’t safe for him.

“I believe it’s a bad idea to do such a thing with a Fallen Angel,” she said. “I’m corrupt. You don’t want to taint yourself in the Garden of Eden.”

“There’s nothing dirty or corrupt about you,” Sandalphon said.

Those words felt better than anything she’d ever experienced in her foolish, fleeting relationships.

And so, months passed, Sandalphon taking care of Mirin, and Mirin of him. Just like he showed, she preened them, took the dead pinions away, and brushed them with care. They sat at the foot of the tree, near her tent. They’d built it up together, and she had no intention of ever leaving his side.

“See how pretty they are?” Sandalphon asked.

Her new feather’s sheen was a metallic dark-blue and aqua. Sandalphon’s were an earthy brown with a white stripe, nothing like she’d expect from an angel. She was about to compliment him on them when something went terribly wrong.

Suddenly, Sandalphon started shaking and groaned. He fell on the ground, convulsing. His legs were flailing, and Mirin panicked. A corrupt, dirty fallen angel shouldn’t ever have touched him! She didn’t know what to do.

Nobody could help them in that deserted garden, and her heart was beating so fast, she had trouble breathing. Light-headed and shocked dumb, she could only watch when blue flames started appearing on his wings.

He was burning! Mirin screamed in horror, looking around for water. They were far from the thermae, too far from the closest lake or water source. The flames didn’t take upon the bark of the tree.

“He’s burning! Please, someone, help!” she shouted.

Nobody was going to come to his rescue. Trauma kept projecting in front of her horrified eyes. She remembered bodies burning in red flame, the bodies of her friends, the flare of her curse when it raged for the first time. It was still hurting her now, but she could cope. Sandalphon needed her.

The blue flame was consuming his entire body, almost liquid in its aspect. Mirin screamed, helpless as even putting sheets on him didn’t affect the fire. They didn’t burn anything but him.

The garden’s gigantic white snake suddenly crawled down from the tree, darting towards the unconscious Cupid.

Mirin threw fruits at its massive head, but it didn’t deter the monster from coiling around Sandalphon. Hitting it with a stick was impossible, the monster already tight around him. She struggled, but each time she approached, an invisible force pushed her away until she was sitting, crying in despair.

Slowly, the flames started fading. It was as if the snake absorbed them through its scales. After a few minutes, which felt like an eternity, the fire was gone. Round yellow eyes stared at Mirin. If it weren’t an animal, she’d have felt as if someone was glaring at her. Blue eyes flashed in her mind, and she crawled back, terrified by the immense invisible force that threatened to crush her.

Sandalphon was unscathed, not a trace of the fire on his skin or wings. He was asleep, dreaming something beautiful, smiling. And so, she watched him coil his legs around the snake, hug it like he would a pillow. The snake didn’t move, only rising its head when she’d dare approach them too much. Sandalphon woke up, remembering nothing of the incident.

This angel definitely wasn’t like the others.

***

It was worse than Shalem had expected while she listened to Sandalphon and Mirin. The Fallen Angel seemed to have a severe case of Crush on him. Not like Sandalphon needed an explanation on the birds and the bees, that was Sahar’s responsibility, but how could she explain Fallen Angels?

The four of them, Lucifer, Shalem, Sandalphon, and Mirin, sat in the Cupid’s small house, away from possible prying eyes. Lucifer, as the executant he was, kept silent and cross-armed, his rare glances at the Fallen Angel cold and suspicious.

Either the Almighty had offered her refuge, or someone ill-intentioned unlocked the gate, and she’d entered by accident. The key had mysteriously disappeared from its lock, meant for Sandalphon to be able to leave if he had to escape.

Shalem couldn’t blame Sandalphon for refusing to accept what his friend was. He’d understood she committed a crime of some sort, and Arbiter punished her, but he couldn’t see the evil in her. Sandalphon didn’t understand the concept of sinning.

On the other hand, Shalem couldn’t understand why Arbiter still did mass trials and executions. That procedure was primitive, even to her. As horrible as it sounded, it was the norm and had happened quite often in a distant past.

Only the pure and loyal could stay in Heaven, and Mirin accumulated a few sins; gluttony, lust, luxury, and sloth. She acted almost as basely a human, indulging in lowly instincts and acting upon her desires. It wasn’t Shalem’s problem; her purpose was to punish heathens on earth, not judge corrupt angels.

What surprised Shalem most was with what ease Sandalphon had hidden Mirin from everyone for months. He wasn’t the scheming type, but he was pathologically afraid of abandonment. Maybe to Lucifer, it could have felt like treason, but the poor ignorant had no freaking idea what he was doing. Only once someone has lived centuries in isolation could he understand such despair.

Sahar wanted to protect his dear little Cupid from every upsetting problem in Heaven, and here was the result; a shaky lusty demon Sandalphon saved held him like on a lifeline. Arbiter would have considered it a crime and damned him as well.

Shalem asked a full report of what they did, just to test how muchthat girl’s curse could have affected Sandalphon. If Mirin had tried to have sex with him, she would have been in for quite a bad surprise, and it seemed she hadn’t even tried.

“But why go so far as to put them through such torture?” Sandalphon asked. “She’s in constant pain!”

“That’s the Almighty’s decision. It might as well be the way he feels every time one of his children betrays him,” Shalem replied.

Maybe it explained why things were going the way they were up in Etemenanki. Had the Almighty given up hope in His ideal world? The God who could destroy and shape new worlds suffered more than any creature of his creation could imagine. He had no equal but sincerely wished for one. He’d come from nothing and created everything but remained forever alone.

“Did Arbiter judge Mirin by His word then? Did she proceed the way He told her to?” Sandalphon insisted, outrage clear in the tense lines on his face.

Thinking it over, Shalem frowned. Oh, what a headache… Yes, something was off about Arbiter’s procedure. Fallen Angels were damned and exiled to Hell, but were they usually condemned to eternal suffering and torture on top of that? She wasn’t sure.

“Either way, her place isn’t in Eden,” Shalem said. “We must send her where she belongs. It’s not like I wanna kill her or damn her given how much she did for you, but if it’s the Almighty—”

“If? What do you mean, if?” Sandalphon asked, “Can’t you ask Father?”

To that question, Shalem remained silent. Sandalphon was increasingly agitated, his feathers puffing up and wings flapping.

“What’s happening up there?” he asked in a shaky voice.

“I’m sorry, Sandy, but I’d much rather send her down than kick you both out,” she said, trying her best to remain firm. “She won’t be fine, but at least she’ll be free.”

“Showing gratitude to a Fallen Angel has only ever wrought chaos and grief. Dispose of her like you would any Demon, or there will be dire consequences,” Lucifer said.

Arbiter’s watchdog must have believed her too lenient or meek. She did care for Sandalphon and didn’t want to break his heart, but that was not the reason she didn’t kill Mirin on the spot. Not just anyone could hide and sleep in that tree’s trunk and heal. Mirin was there for an important reason, and even though the Almighty wouldn’t tell them, her presence at Sandalphon's side must have served an important purpose.

“Alright, but we’ll imprison her then, but I can't promise that Arbiter won’t torture her."

“Shalem, please, don’t!” Sandalphon cried. “Lucifer! What if she were that missing friend of yours? If what she said is true, and he was part of those people—”

“That would be folly! He was never a sinner, neither has he committed a crime. Nothing would justify Azazel falling from grace after all he did for Heaven’s sake,” Lucifer retorted, apparently upset by that possibility.

Shalem snorted. They were both naïve in their own way. “You’ll know if you cross blades with him on the battlefield, Lucifer. The pain drives them insane and completely changes their personality. Maybe you wouldn’t even recognize him.

This woman is an exception, maybe because of the tree or Sandy, or both, I don’t know. Either way, we can’t keep her here.”

Resignation darkened Mirin’s gaze. “If I may live free, I am ready for anything. I’ll miss Sandy, but I understand.”

“Mirin!” Poor Sandalphon must have been lonely again, and Mirin filled those empty days.

“I will live,” Mirin said, determined, “and you’ll be free someday, I’m sure. Speaker of Dusk, why are you keeping Sandy locked in your garden alone? Can’t he do something at the Almighty’s service?”

If it were only for Shalem, she’d introduced him to her new friend on earth. No matter if she became a villain to Sandalphon because keeping him inside the garden was her most important duty.

Lucifer threw a curious glance at Shalem. That was why they tried to keep people away from Sandalphon; they’d feel sympathy and want to understand why, but nobody shall ever know why he was the most guarded angel in Heaven, nor who he was. Some information had leaked once, and luckily, the Demons hadn’t taken it for real.

“Next time he sees you, Sahar will bring you to our Father, and you’ll be able to ask him,” she promised, unsure she could keep that promise. Sahar was going to be furious, but Shalem also believed Sandalphon had a right to know. If they kept hiding the painful truth from him, it might trigger precisely what they feared.

Sandalphon calmed down at that promise and accepted to part with Mirin. Lucifer remained skeptical but obligated to follow the Speaker’s decision.

“Promise you’ll send her where she’ll be welcome,” Sandalphon said, as they arrived at the garden’s gate. Shalem nodded.

“Speaker; setting a Fallen Angel free will only cause harm, be it here or on earth,” Lucifer warned.

“Oh, shush!” Sandalphon hissed, “What do you even know about her, except what you’re constantly affirming? You’re so mean!”

Lucifer’s six wings drooped, and the proud warrior teetered. “I’m only saying that for your good,” Lucifer replied.

“My good? Isn’t it rather for your good, to not think otherwise? I guess it’s too hard for a bigot to admit he’s wrong! Do you think I still listen when Sahar says it’s for my good?”

Lucifer’s mouth opened and closed it without saying a word, and Shalem didn’t feel like scolding Sandalphon. He was right, in a sense. Angels were so self-righteous, and Shalem was happy to have little to do with them. As for Sahar, he’d failed Sandalphon long ago.

“Are you corrupt? Is this the influence that the demon had on you?” Lucifer whispered.

Shalem rolled her eyeballs. There they went, their first-ever argument. She wasn’t going to stop them; better have Lucifer out of the way. She’d never even wanted him in Eden in the first place.

“She healed my wings and my heart and opened my eyes to many things! You never taught me anything, or told me wrong from right when it was necessary because you can’t learn from your own mistakes! You’re too prideful, Lucifer!”

“Pride is a sin!” Lucifer barked, but Sandalphon didn’t back down.

“Then you are a sinner! Get out of my face, and don’t touch her; she’s better than you!”

“You’re out of your mind!” Lucifer spat, his eyes wide, and for a moment, Shalem feared he might draw his sword.

Sandalphon’s expression was unreadable, but he surprisingly remained the most composed of the two. He stood his ground between Lucifer and Mirin. Mirin watched between them anxiously, and at Shalem, who couldn’t do more than her to stop them.

“If you believe my love is corrupt, cut me down here and now. If you aren’t sure from the bottom of your heart that I’m wrong, leave,” Sandalphon said.

Lucifer put his hand to his sword’s handle, and Shalem prepared to kick Lucifer’s ass if he did. He’d forgotten about her, but he was hesitant. A few seconds of immobility and he turned away, the first to step through the gate.

“That’s it, tail between the legs, you coward! You can’t face yourself!” Sandalphon yelled, his face suddenly red, but Lucifer ignored him.

“Come on, girl. I’m not gonna leave Sandalphon alone for long after this,” Shalem said.

She most certainly wasn’t going to let him ruin his wings again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coronavirus situation: I am in a hardly touched area in my country, and it wouldn't surprise me that even though I am self-confining, there's still a chance I might fall ill because I live with my parents, and we still have to go out to buy groceries. On one side, it's a blessing I have all the time to write and do my hobbies, but on the other, it's very scary. I hope reading this story will entertain you a bit during these long, long days. I also hope depression won't hinder me from writing any further. I can't promise regular and faster publishing, but I must stay busy as well. 
> 
> My Twitter account is now private, but you can also reach me there if you wanna scream about LuciSan and ShioSan. About the ShioSan tag by the way: he'll have his time. A bit late, but I promise there will be sweet ShioSan.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bite-sized chapter, because I felt like it. Take it as a macaron. The next chapter will probably be much longer and ShioSan focused.

“It’s been forever, Sahar,” Sandalphon said between his teeth, “and you dare to show up in a dream, not even in person!”

“That long? Wasn’t it just a few months?” the Speaker replied, safely seated on the top of his pink cloud, way out of reach even though inside of Sandalphon’s head.

“ _Just_ a few months?” Sandalphon felt like grabbing the man, yank him down to his level, and shake him hard. “It felt like forever! Can’t you understand that?!”

A shadow passed over Sahar’s otherwise sunny smile as he replied: “Nobody can visit me in Etemenanki either.”

The most of a negative emotion Sahar ever showed was sadness, the same melancholy as Arbiter as if the weight of the Almighty were on his shoulders. Sahar reached for Sandalphon with his arms wide open, as if he expected the furious Cupid to jump into them.

Maybe his long hair was as soft and silky as in reality. Perhaps his skin felt the same as warm as in his embrace. He was as radiant and enveloping as the dawn, the morning star twinkling in the sky. That ethereal beauty was detestable when it felt so unreachable and inhumane.

In a dream, Sandalphon could let his boiling rage loose, destroy everything, turn heaven to specks and islands, send the Garden up to Etemenanki. Not this time. Sahar didn’t deserve to know how important he was. Indifference hurt differently from hatred, and the Speaker couldn’t stand indifference.

“I missed you,” Sahar said, and Sandalphon snapped.

“Then come back, say it to my face!”

“San-chan…”

“Why, Sahar, why are you imprisoning me? What’s my purpose in that Garden?”

Sahar shook his head but didn’t give up on the hug he wanted Sandalphon to initiate. Not only did he have the gall to give no replies, he demanded a reward!

“I’m never making coffee for you again!” Sandalphon shouted, to which, at last, the other gasped.

It was petty and didn’t solve anything, but if he could get any reaction out of Sahar, he’d step on him until he was begging for forgiveness. Just for the satisfaction of a shift in the other’s attitude, he was ready to test his boundaries.

“I’ll feed you apples every day!”

“That’s terrible!” Sahar said, setting a hand on his chest and, at last, looking distraught.

“My house is off boundaries. Sleep under a tree or something!”

“San-chan, please forgive me! Please, don’t feed me apples!”

… It was about the apples? He’d registered only that? Sandalphon was about to scream, imagine some blunt object to appear in the dreamscape, and whack him with that, but he got a better idea.

They were now standing in an apple orchard, plump, red fruit ready for harvest on the trees. The Speaker’s face turned pale, and he seemed to search desperately for his safe little cloud. It was nowhere, the imaginary playground shaped to its owner’s will. One’s dream could be another’s nightmare.

“A… Aha… I see you mastered the art of lucid dreaming…” the Speaker tittered, shrinking back.

What the hell else was he supposed to do than learn useless things like magic and lucid dreaming?

Apples started flying like projectiles towards the Speaker. Sandalphon threw a few himself, but Sahar was fast. It was more fun to see him struggle a bit, to let him believe he had a chance to avoid them, just to see him fall.

Sandalphon was going to give him a taste of his festering soul, shaped like a heart he held in his hand. It tasted of the sweetest apple from the top of the oldest Tree, of defeat and betrayal, partings and loss to Sahar. To Sandalphon, it tasted like revenge.

The Speaker twisted at the last second, coiled an arm around Sandalphon’s stomach, and caught his wrist, the heart still pulsing in his palm. His skin was as warm as in reality, and a strand of his long hair brushed Sandalphon’s shoulder, enraging in how ticklish it felt. This wasn’t an ordinary dream, and neither would wake up until their conflict was resolved.

“You don’t really want to attack me, do you?” Sahar asked, blinking as if surprised by his own strength and speed.

Sandalphon squirmed, denying it with all of his might. He wanted to see tears of regret on his face, not to wrestle and feel every part of their bare skin touching. The conflicting emotions wrung his bleeding heart. He’d missed that embrace so much, he remembered why he plucked his feathers until his wings were bleeding when solitude became unbearable.

Sahar sighed, still holding him like they were about to waltz.

“Are you feeling better?” Sahar asked.

“No!” Sandalphon roared, taking a bite of his own heart.

Before Sahar could react, Sandalphon slammed their lips together and pushed a piece into Sahar’s mouth. The Speaker almost bit his tongue, bending back as Sandalphon held him tight. He swallowed it, and retched a few times, tumbling.

Sandalphon didn’t have the time to scream victory and didn’t understand what happened next. The Speaker lifted him up in a swift swing. Before he could gasp, their lips were together again.

Sahar hated apples, but he licked and sucked the remaining juice off hungrily. He wanted it that much? Then Sandalphon indulged, letting Sahar taste his pain off his tongue. Sahar groaned but accepted it.

Sandalphon’s head was spinning, his legs wrapped around the Speaker’s hips, beating his wings to keep balance and hit Sahar on the head. It prickled and stung like, in reality, the weight of the months present even in that imaginary space.

“You’re so—” Sahar gasped, giving him more, letting him run his hands through his hair, tugging them angrily.

“Needy? Are you going to call me needy, while you neglect what’s yours, and then lose it? If that hadn’t happened, I wonder if Father would have—” Sandalphon started, but Sahar’s expression suddenly hardened in a way he hadn’t seen in eons, ever since the creation of the earth and the division between man and god.

“I’ll take responsibility! I’ll eat the orchard, but don’t you dare bring that up!”

He didn’t have to ask twice before Sandalphon sent him an entire rotten orchard to taste. Sahar kept holding him tight, the projectiles smashing against his back, on his head and face, drenching him and his clothes in their sticky, sickly-sweet smelling juice.

It was all just a nightmare to Sahar, so it couldn’t be painful, couldn’t hurt him the way Sandalphon hurt in reality. All that would be left from that night to the Speaker would be an uncomfortable tingly sensation when he woke up. He, the dignified Speaker, looked pathetic and drenched, but it didn’t count.

“Will you eat as many apples as I give you when you come home?” Sandalphon asked.

“I promise I will, as many as you feel fit to punish me. But please, believe me; I didn’t want to leave you alone for so long!”

“If at least I knew why, I’d have a reason to wait,” Sandalphon mumbled against his shoulder, enjoying their sticky embrace more than he should. He was weak.

“Father won’t tell me why either,” Sahar replied, as infuriatingly enigmatic as ever. “Would you still allow me to have a nice dream with you?”

“You don’t deserve as much!” Sandalphon snapped.

“But you do,” Sahar said, and he had a point. “We can do whatever we want here.”

Sandalphon tusked, unable to stop the corners of his lips from curling up. “Whatever _I_ want. You don’t get what you want. Anything?”

“Anything,” Sahar probably felt like he was out of trouble and safe. Nope. “What do you want?” Sahar asked, nuzzling into Sandalphon’s hair, relaxed for the few seconds preceding Sandalphon’s request.

“Lead me to Father. I have a few questions to ask.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning; there is an overlapped POV between Sahar and Sandalphon at some point which can get a bit confusing. At one moment, Sandalphon sees through Sahar's eyes and can read his thoughts while keeping his own critical sense. Consider the entire chapter as Sandalphon's actual POV.
> 
> As promised, ShioSan :)

The Almighty was omnipresent, and dreams weren't an exception. Be the shape He took in Sahar's heart, a stray thought Sandalphon could catch on the way, or a secret emerging in the background, he was sure to find clues.

Secrets often slipped out from the subconscious. If the Speaker's mind was guilty, then the dirty truth was lurking somewhere. Their desires mingled in their shared dream to create a setting while their intent paved the way. Sahar didn't know what he wanted to ask, but could probably guess what his questions were. If he had anything to hide, then he'd pull in the opposite direction and betray himself.

Even the Cupid had his little garden of secrets and could let something embarrassing slip. Sahar taught him about the dreamscapes, the magic so he could create himself the world he wanted, but dreams weren't the same as reality. It was the illusion of an escape from Eden, nothing more. Dreaming of freedom wasn't freedom.

They walked through a maze of long corridors inside Etemenanki, shaped through Sahar's memory. The hallways were ebony black, a network of purple glowing conducts dividing like a spider's net on the walls. Sandalphon hadn't ever imagined the tower to be such a dark and hollow place. It was nothing like the baroque, white and luminous buildings in the silver city, but something comparable to a military facility, or a tomb.

Maybe Sahar was voluntarily rising walls, and perhaps it was the way he felt about the tower rather than how it looked. Dreams could be full of mistakes. If the illusion was close to reality, the days must have been even longer and lonelier than in Eden.

The few times Sahar had crafted an imaginary space, he created pleasant locations, where they could stargaze, fly free, or lie comfortably on a bed of flowers. This place felt unstable as if he took a wrong step, and the floor could crack under their feet like thin ice and break. A foreboding sensation followed his footsteps as if someone were watching.

Sandalphon stopped to look closer at an empty stone tablet. A spotlight projected on it as if it were a museum piece, but it was only a flat rock. Such objects were significant when the mind put them forward that way.

"Something will be written there, in time," Sahar said, his voice echoing in the hollow space, "It will be important, but I can't predict it."

Were they slowly slipping into unconscious dreaming, where words wouldn't make much sense anymore, and Sandalphon forget most of their encounter once he woke up? He tugged at Sahar's hand and frowned. The Speaker smiled and shook his head: no, he wasn't trying to distract him.

They paused in front of a large glass wall, through which they could see stars in the sky above the Heavens. A sea of purple and grey clouds spread below, the top of the tower the closest place to the Almighty. Sahar must have loved that view to dream it so clearly. The sky was turning into a lighter blue in the early morning. Sahar probably wanted Sandalphon to see him, but the same as the sky, he kept the stars out of his reach.

One star was twinkling brighter than the others. A wave of emotions struck Sandalphon. It felt so far away, unobtainable while he wanted to touch it, be able to feel its gentle warmth. No star shone brighter, and no matter how hard the dawn tried to break into the morning, its shine didn't fade, neither did Sandalphon's longing.

"Ah, that star outshines the sky in your eyes. It's out of your reach, but my hand is yours," Sahar said with a wry smile.

"Do I have something to do with this projection?" Sandalphon asked.

Sahar nodded and said, "You aren't conscious of it yet, but maybe better, you never be. Come, that arrogant star is provoking me."

They arrived at a stairway, which looped up through the roof, into the sky and out of sight. Sahar wearily evaluated the distance, stomped at the first step, as if trying to tame the stairway. Sandalphon could feel a weight crushing his shoulders. It was as if they couldn't ever get to their destination.

Their hands tightened their grip. "Why are you hesitating?"

"Work has been daunting lately," Sahar replied between his teeth, heaving his leg up, feet sinking into the steps, "I might be nearing a burnout," he chuckled, grumbling at the melting world.

Just then, the stairs fell from under their feet. Sandalphon, gasped, blinked, and they were elsewhere.

They were standing in an unattended field of grass, surrounded by weeds and wildflowers. It was a remote area of the Garden of Eden that Sandalphon avoided for a reason he couldn't remember. Maybe because its size was daunting, a green ocean which could have led to the end of the world, the void, or infinity.

"Why have you brought me here?" Sandalphon cried. "I don't wanna play! I wanna talk to Father!" He sounded childish and upset, even to his ears.

Sahar had lifted both his hands, but that did nothing to calm the Cupid down. "I don't know! Something's wrong," he replied, but Sandalphon didn't believe him.

His memories of the last time they went into the field were vague, but he remembered running amidst the flowers. The long grass had tickled his ankles and legs, the muscles in his young wings warming up as he ran and ran until his feet left the ground. Then, darkness. He remembered a fire, crying, and waking up at home alone, Sahar absent.

As if echoing his memory, Sandalphon saw a projection of his younger self running by, followed by small orbs of blue light. He hadn't remembered that, and the image faded just as quickly as it came. Something was crackling like breaking branches. All the tiny flowers at his feet were a stark blue. Sahar, suddenly putting an arm in front of him, roused him to attention.

An unknown entity had appeared, dragging its shadowy long silhouette over the grass. It could have been Death in its cloak, a symbol of some sort. Sandalphon felt a chill, both of them surprised by its sudden apparition. Was it a Demon, a trauma, or a faded memory?

The Speaker stared at the potential threat with narrow eyes. Seeming to ignore them, it went towards the little Sandalphon and leaned over him, like an adult observing what a child was doing. Young Sandalphon was talking to it, showing it what first looked like a flower. He didn't seem intimidated, even grinning at it with rosy cheeks.

A blue flame had appeared between Sandalphon's hands, and the little Cupid was giggling, juggling with it like a toy while the shadow watched. Something like a smile or a white smirk tore through its darkness.

"Oh no," Sahar whispered. "It's a nightmare seed."

A seed was a dark spell only seasoned witches or black magicians could create. Only someone Sahar had invited into his dreamscape, and he'd not suspected, could have left such a spell behind. Had he been seeing someone else, or was it ancient? Only the Almighty ever visited his dreams, from what he said.

A limb protruded from the shadow, like an outstretched hand. Untamed, sharp white hair and reptilian blue eyes flashed before Sandalphon, and before he understood what was happening, it had caught his throat.

***

A strange kind of sorrow overwhelmed Sandalphon. Was it denial? Anger? Emptiness? It felt similar to when he had argued about Mirin with Lucifer but worse than watching him leave furious, worse than the fear of abandonment. Whoever he was sad about wasn't ever going to come back for sure. He was seeing through someone else's eyes, and immediately understood it was the Speaker's.

Sahar was in the Garden of Eden, kneeling in front of the Tree of Knowledge. Its apples were sour and poisonous. Knowing too much rotted the mind and soul brought contempt for those less gifted. A headless snake was dangling on a branch, freshly killed. It hadn't calmed him down as much as he had believed.

Whatever had happened was his fault, for not having been careful enough. They called him worthless and were right. Sandalphon couldn't make much sense of Sahar's mixed thoughts but knew he'd killed that snake.

Someone appeared in his mind, their image blurry. Juice ran down their narrow lips, and they were cackling, showing the object of their forfeit with pride, maybe a fruit.

They were mean, violent, terrifying even. Sahar could still feel it in his body, wondering why he missed the pain and fear. That unknown sensation stabbed at Sahar's heart, and he sobbed. No matter what they did, they were his other half and gone forever.

"Master, please, forgive him. He didn't know what he was doing!" Sahar cried.

That was a lie; He knew what he was doing when challenging God. Nobody could have kept him in Heaven, expecting him to be a virtuous Speaker. His character was too strong, rotten by spite. A bright mind couldn't accept such a primitive world, and he was suffocating under the hierarchy. Sahar had seen none of it coming, even with the increasing abuse he'd endured.

Sahar gazed at the green leaves above. His body felt hollow, his thoughts vaporous. Sandalphon knew that feeling, unlike that deep gash of sorrow; it was loneliness. A voice was whispering in his mind, but Sahar was trying to ignore it, hating his incapacity at cutting their ties.

Had he fallen so low after the stranger with the fruit left? Now, Sandalphon was sure he hadn't told him everything about his predecessor, or even the truth. There wasn't more shocking to an angel than his guardian, not believing in God anymore, at least at that moment. His touch with reality was fading.

"You think my Eve is replaceable?" Sahar grunted, unlike Sandalphon, had ever heard him, "I don't need a spare!"

This time, Sandalphon understood; the Almighty had offered him as a replacement after that other man left. Sahar never lied. There had been someone before him, but he never knew that he was unwanted or even a _spare_! He had no freedom, and his personality was only a construct to fill an empty spot. Annihilation mustn't have felt much different.

Struggling not to let the spell take over his consciousness completely, Sandalphon tried to think about something that contradicted that possibility. Maybe the seed was twisting the facts, but he had nothing in his defense, only what Sahar ever said. He tried to summon the Speaker without any success.

"The Divergence will be born with the blue flame of the Rapture. Guide him towards the light and protect him from the temptation of demons, the evil of man, and my rebellious sons," the deep voice rumbled.

It wasn't as if he had a choice. God was rebirth and destruction. Both eradicated all existence after a certain number of cycles through a Singularity or a Divergence. The apocalypse, the Rapture, or Armageddon, was nothing more than devices to reset a timeline. It saddened the Speaker to see entire worlds and people disappear. Civilizations and numerous species, gone forever, on the whim of their creator.

A bulbous, brown feathery Angel Cradle grew at the tree's foot. The seed of the cradle had fallen from the fruit at the traitor's lips before he disappeared, sprouting from spit and spite. Sahar couldn't run away.

It jittered and started blooming, feathers unfolding like lotus petals around its content. Sahar was anxious and felt no wonder or joy. His thought process was unclear, a confusing mixture of the abuse he'd endured from the predecessor and negative visions of the future. He held his breath, leaning down to see what an ugly beast the Divergence was.

Just then, comforting energy enveloped Sandalphon. Sahar was trying to influence the scene. No, Sandalphon wasn't alone, and it wasn't all so dark. Together, they could get out of this nightmare. He just had to be open to a positive vision and not deny the love of his guardian. That thing was putting Sahar in a bad light with the intent to destroy their trust. 

Baby Sandalphon inside the bloomed cradle had thick and wavy brown hair, small fluffy brown wings, and stared at Sahar with his red eyes. Something in the Speaker's heart lit up. What a tiny, strange thing, he thought.

It snorted, blurted out a ridiculous sound, and farted loudly. Sahar twisted his nose, shocked. There was nothing divine or ethereal about the smell. It then cried, scared by its fart, and cried louder, terrified by its wails. Was Sahar making fun of him?

That thing was helpless, tiny, stupid. Look at those small hands and feet, that round face, that tubby stomach, those innocent doe eyes! It wasn't evil incarnate. The Rapture had taken the shape of a Cupid, a love angel, a needy, affectionate cherub meant to spread love amongst humans. How cynical could the Master be!?

Maybe the Almighty intended to give Sahar a second chance to prove he could care for an equal. Raising a love angel must have meant love could save the world, right? The Rapture wasn't going to happen unless he failed at his mission to love and protect.

Sahar stretched out a shivering hand, and baby Sandalphon caught his finger. He stared a bit, but then started giggling as if Sahar's face were the funniest thing he'd ever seen. Maybe it was. That sound surprised him in how much it filled the void in his heart with delight.

From then on, a pink lens covered his eyes. Sandalphon was Sahar's little ray of sunshine, gave the spice in his life. Sahar shared flashes of his memories, of the times they played together, of how, slowly, their mutual affection turned into love. Living it through his lover was the most embarrassing thing Sandalphon ever experienced.

Seeing himself through a lovestruck god was torture! He saw himself sipping coffee, watched his desirable pink lips, his long lashes, how the steam caressed his sunny skin. He'd never wanted to hold himself so tightly, and protect himself, or see himself smile so much. His laughter was music to Sahar's ears.

He preferred his coffee with exactly one spoon sugar and no milk. His favorite cup was the purple one, which reminded him of the violets he tended to. The most sensitive spot in his wings was at the base, deep in the down, and Sahar loved the way his breath hitched, and his wings shivered when he kneaded them. The pervert got his kicks from teaching him how to preen, under the pretext it was self-care. It wasn't a pretext!

He felt his wings under Sahar's hands and was surprised at how soft they were in his perception. Sahar loved them so much that he could have shoved them into his mouth. He'd never said a word about them when they were injured, and Sandalphon believed he didn't care. Yet, he brushed them as if they were precious, infusing them with his purest ether when they bathed.

His golden-brown locks were another source of worship. Sandalphon wished he'd die when he fell in love with his own scent. He smelled of sandalwood and coffee. How can a person be so mushy? Even as he scolded Sahar, or kicked him out of the kitchen because he was a useless sore, that masochist was the happiest Speaker. Sometimes, he hesitated between the impulse of kissing him and strangling him and chose neither.

The spell was fighting back, trying to attract their attention into negative memories like a depression would, but failed. Maybe Sahar was exaggerating, and perhaps he knew how to torment the original caster of the spell. He was just trying to evade the fact he'd lied and kept trying to cover his failings. It was time to destroy that evil spell.

Sandalphon, too, loved Sahar with all of his heart. He couldn't accurately pinpoint what, but just hearing his voice and feel the warmth of his skin was enough to feel safe and calm. Loneliness disappeared, forgotten, and he wasn't that curious about the world as long as his world was the Speaker of Dawn.

Whenever Sahar took on his mystical airs around Arbiter, Sandalphon swooned at the gap in his attitude. He'd have fervently worshipped that man if he hadn't known how clumsy and how awkward he was outside of work. His perfect body, his confident posture, his airy voice, someone could have believed he was impressive. Sandalphon didn't, neither did Shalem, but Sahar only ever showed his Cupid some vulnerability.

Sandalphon's displays of affection were his care, his coffee, but never, oh never, would he have been as forward or sappy as his embarrassing lover. Every molecule of his coffee was infused with his anticipation for their reunions. Every flower he picked was while thinking of him. Every new invention spawned from his desire to make Sahar happy.

He'd have preferred the Speaker would forget that once they woke up. Sahar's power ripped through the darkness as if fired up by his honesty.

Their first kiss happened inside their home. Sahar's lips against his own fanned flames in his body as he'd initiated it while they cuddled. The Speaker had reciprocated clumsily, and then, they couldn't stop anymore. There was no reason for either of them even to think about the second step. Everything felt natural and flowed like a tranquil river upon the centuries.

What did the caster hate more than romance? Sahar seemed to have a reply, as he pulled them into another memory.

Shalem had talked about intercourse as if it were something amazing, but that wasn't necessary. Cupids were the servants of Eros and knew a few naughty secrets. Had that demon ever heard of intercrural sex, fellatio, hand-jobs, wing sex? What, shocked? Let Cupids be Cupids, and hide the bishop with horny Gods.

The spell suddenly lashed back with such fury that it felt as if it had driven a spear through Sandalphon.

On one of their most heated trysts, Sandalphon had fainted and couldn't remember what had happened. It had troubled him more than he'd admitted, but Sahar assured they'd just been a bit too enthusiastic. Their love was tender, without any risks taken, so it had felt like a lie. An overdose of either wouldn't have done that much harm. Embarrassment stopped him from asking more questions.

The spell showed him what had happened, and deep down, Sandalphon felt it wasn't a lie. 

A fire had gushed out of Sandalphon's wings. He was burning with blue flames, crying in agony. Sahar panicked, holding him as tightly as he could. The flames were as cold as ice, a liquid sensation on his arms and chest, running all over. The Cupid's powers were growing uncontrollable, a pendulum swinging over both of their heads, but this was the first outburst.

Sahar coiled himself the best he could around Sandalphon, trying to absorb the power, calling his name, repeating he loved him. It hurt! It hurt like a million tiny daggers, but he wouldn't let go, even as it tore through his skin. The Speaker was bleeding, agonizing by his fault, by his curses fault. He was going to destroy everything he loved, no matter what that idealistic Speaker did to save him!

"Sandalphon," a distant voice called in the roar of the flames. "Sandalphon! Get a hang of yourself! Man, oh man, what's this insane spell?!" Shalem called, and with a surprised gasp, she said, "Sahar?! Help me!"

Someone was shaking him. Sandalphon was drifting away from the dreamscape, hanging to it with all of his might, afraid Sahar might lose his mind if he left him alone to burn. He'd forgotten it was only a dream, an evil spell at that, but that voice was familiar and reminded him he had to wake up.

He gasped loudly, his face wet with sweat and tears. His chest was heaving, his legs shaking, and he felt sick. Small blue flames were burning the sheets around him, Sahar holding him tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to ask questions. I have no beta-reader to give me an impression and advice, so I'm pretty much writing blind. 
> 
> Yeah, I went into the Adam/Eve trope a bit... I'm not a CioFaa or FaaCio shipper, but it fits in this story as a plot device xD


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for Dubcon and potentially triggering content apply, starting this point.

Archangel Gabriel noticed she had been stamping her feet. The Creation Gods were something entirely different from the third generation, the Archangel thought, exposed to such embarrassing displays of affection. Even the Cupid was protesting a bit, but the Speaker seemed to be on cloud nine. Serving Zeus should have prepared her for anything. Not for this.

It was the first time she'd met or heard of the Speaker of Dawn's companion, servant, or whatever that Cupid's purpose was at his side. Whenever Sahar asked for her services, he was either on top of the tower or in the temple. His private life was none of her concern until he invented home-office.

Their lack of discretion was a scene no angel should behold. Just like lovebirds, they stuck together, chirping, Sahar smiling and softly bickering with his Cupid until Gabriel loudly cleared her throat. Was this what humans called an embarrassing couple?

Sahar hadn't introduced them formally, but only by name. He said Sandalphon was the Garden's guardian, but for some reason, that was hard to believe. The Cupid had glanced at him sideways, and then quizzically at Gabriel. He was staring at her blue hair, lips parted, childish awe on his face. It was as if he'd seen an angel for the first time.

Sahar explained as if he were talking to a child, that she delivered messages for Heaven's upper spheres, influential people. This time though, it was only a particular measure to thank Lucifer. Receiving a letter from Lady Gabriel was considered an honor and a blessing.

At Lucifer's mention, Sandalphon's face brightened in recognition. "Why not invite him for a coffee then? He'd enjoy it much more than some paper or a pretty lady."

Gabriel discreetly bit her lip not to giggle. Didn't he know, or hadn't he learned that presents of material nature were frowned upon by angels? That kind of invitation was befitting to humans, not to the Arch Seraph. Still, his naivety was cute.

"Lucifer is a very busy man, San-chan," Sahar said, and the hopeful smile disappeared from Sandalphon's face.

"He always was. Why? Doesn't he want to see me anymore?"

The Speaker slightly fumbled, glanced at Gabriel as if she might have a better answer than him. The longer she observed that Cupid, the more singular he appeared. What kind of business could he have had with Lucifer?

"I'm sorry, San-chan, but he doesn't and he shouldn't," Sahar said, rolling his eyeballs.

Under Gabriel's bewildered eyes, Sandalphon scrambled to his knees and laid his chest over the Speaker's revered lap. Gabriel wasn't of high rank but believed she deserved the same civility as any Angel. Their entire society functioned on a protocol, rigorous rules, including physical contact, and how to hold oneself.

"Aa-ah San-chan!" the Speaker cried, leaning down, his hands unsure of where to settle, be it staying in mid-air in surprise. "We have a visitor! You shouldn't do this!"

"You forgot to shut the gate when you left, so take responsibility," the Cupid huffed, setting his arms and chin onto the Speaker's knee. "He deserves at least a coffee as thanks!"

"We don't have time for frivolities!"

Weren't they frivolous just at that moment, Gabriel wondered, struggling to remain stoic and keep her mouth shut. It was none of her business. Her work was to deliver messages. They wouldn't have called her if it wasn't necessary, but again, Creation Gods like Helel Ben Sahar and Shalem tended to treat their inferiors in a lofty manner.

The Cupid pouted, cheeky enough to frown at Sahar.

"You know how much I love you and would do anything for you, don't you? You're playing with fire, San-chan," the Speaker said, stroking Sandalphon's messy whirlwind of brown locks. The Cupid twitched and put his face between Sahar's knees.

The Cupid silent, Sahar turned his attention to Gabriel.

"Please deliver this formal acknowledgment to Lucifer for his good services. His attendance isn't required anymore," he said.

Underneath her warrior's shield and celestial status, Gabriel was a sensible being. Sandalphon's grip had tightened on Sahar's garb, and his shoulders were trembling. Whatever that Cupid was going through felt like it shouldn't have happened in Eden.

Sahar handed her an envelope, continuing to stroke his companion's hair. She made her reverence, and he replied with a wave of the hand as if she shouldn't have acted so formally.

"San-chan, be kind and show her the way out," Sahar said, setting a kiss on his head.

Sandalphon timidly nodded, the furrow still on his bow and his eyes low. He set a quick and dry kiss onto the Speaker's lips and led Gabriel out of the house.

They were halfway out of the Garden when Sandalphon suddenly stopped Gabriel, and she jerked her arm back as he brushed it. He first seemed surprised, but then, determination burned in his eyes. Gabriel had already seen that kind of rebellious confidence and felt a knot in the pit of her stomach.

Suddenly, he pulled a blue flower from the side of a bush and showed it to her. "Please, Lady Gabriel. I know Sahar told you to deliver only his letter, but could you give this to Lucifer as well? He'll understand."

By the Gods! Weren't it for the despair darkening his expression, and his nature as a Cupid, she would have immediately refused his request. Lucifer was the Arch Seraph, commander of Heaven's army. Such a message could have been misinterpreted!

As the Archangel of messengers, Gabriel knew the meanings of flowers. Morning Glories had a duality, unlike any angel should ever have. Eternal love, or love in vain, wishing things had gone differently. Blue was the color of loyalty and lasting feelings. If he belonged to Sahar and she hadn't misinterpreted their relationship, such a gift could have caused a scandal.

"Please, it would mean everything to me. I feel like I won't ever see him again, and this holds a special meaning to us," Sandalphon insisted as she stared. "He's a dear friend, my only friend in Heaven. Maybe he's given up on me because I did something wrong, but I haven't."

His hands were slightly shaking. Looking closely, those were working hands which had regularly been scratched or punctured, callous, not from a sword, but tools. Maybe he was the Garden's guardian deity and not merely a Cupid.

Gabriel took his shivering hand into hers and smiled. His intentions were pure, that much she could feel. She'd seen comrades fall, but none of those had ever asked her to convey their feelings to someone dear. They lacked love and fell by egotism.

"I will give him that flower without fail," she said.

Sandalphon's expression brightened, and he beamed, blushing in delight. She only noticed then that his aura was as soothing as a midsummer breeze.

Arbiter allowed Gabriel to distribute the little extra. Arbiter warned Gabriel that she must always pass through Sahar first for whatever concerned his Cupid and had to apologize for having distributed a gift without warning. Small 'favors' had no place between Angels, for it was the base of corruption.

Sometimes, even Gabriel felt like she was choking in Heaven.

***

Gabriel had gone all the way to the battlefield to deliver the flower. The smell of burnt flesh, the demon corpses, the frightened humans weren't anything new to her. Lucifer gazed at her quizzically, no words slipping through his lips in the dead silence.

A wry smile tugged at Lucifer's lips as he read the letter. There was something in his eyes that didn't follow his smile, and he fumbled a bit, putting it into a pocket. They softened as he looked at the flower. He rolled its stem between his fingers pensively, his lips pursed, and eyes narrow.

In the middle of the battlefield, Lucifer absent-mindedly put the flower into his hair. The flower looked like a blue flame shimmering on the Seraph's dazzling blonde hair in the sunlight.

"I don't mean to meddle, but what does this flower represent to you?" Gabriel asked, only to break the sacred silence.

"A fragment of my former crown," Lucifer said, smiling.

As astonishing as hearing a joke from the Arch Seraph was, if he weren't the stoic, perfect, and loyal soldier Gabriel believed him to be, he would have looked like he was about to cry. Suddenly, his eyes widened, an idea flickering inside of them.

"Ah, Gabriel, could I rely on you to give Sandalphon a letter I'll write? There's something I wanted to ask him," he asked.

"Naturally, if it's a formal request and I ask Helel ben Sahar first," she said, shrinking back in surprise as he'd almost set his hands onto her shoulders.

This wasn't a little favor, right? Whatever business they had seemed important to them, and gave humor even to Lucifer. The Arch Seraph's smile was worth a little scolding.

***

Sahar held his long fingers against his lips, thoughtfully leaning his chin on the back of his hand as he checked the content of Lucifer's letter. Gabriel sat with him at a table inside the house, invited to join tea time.

His brow furrowed, and he hummed. He set the letter on the small table, next to a cup of a beverage Gabriel didn't know. It was bitter and deserved some sugar, but it wasn't bad.

"Leave me the letter," Sahar said, and he leaned forward, his long golden hair pooling over his shoulders. Gabriel stiffened at his grim expression. When he looked that serious, he reminded her of someone she was relieved wasn't around anymore.

"It's a private matter between them, and a high-standing Archangel like you has crucial information to deliver. You have more important to deal with than coffee beans, personal thoughts, or recipes."

Gabriel was about to apologize again, but he interrupted her with a wave of the hand, his expression softening. "They've had an unfortunate argument, and it's ruffled my love's feathers quite a bit. I never want to see that again."

Gabriel considered his answer in the depths of her cup, the coffee rippling with her shivering fingers. The Arch Seraph had a personal scuffle with a little nothing of a Cupid? No, she couldn't get involved in something potentially scandalous, and the constant apologizing on either side was taking a toll on her nerves. If the Gods lost trust in her services for having meddled with personal matters, her career was as good as damned.

Still, she remembered the desperation in Sandalphon's voice. Thinking of the situation and that Cupid she'd never seen in the temple, never seen serving any other Gods or working on earth, felt odd. It was as if he'd never existed, or were out of place.

The Speaker's cold gaze had set high walls between them. Whatever question she had was unimportant, maybe even impolite. It hung at her throat, she wanted to know who that Cupid was, why he seemed so important, but couldn't ask.

Like Arbiter would have said, nothing should be personal in Heaven, for it touched the ego, and Angels shouldn't have an ego.

***

Sahar had sent Sandalphon work in the greenhouse while his colleague visited. Sandalphon had prepared them coffee, caught a glimpse at Gabriel, and excitement had rippled through his body. Nobody had called him before she left.

"Has she brought anything for me?"

At the Speaker's bemused expression, Sandalphon felt ashamed he'd sound like a child demanding a gift from a visitor. He'd set his expectations too high.

"She came to apologize for a mistake she'd made. What do you need, dear?"

Disappointment washed over him. His hands were itching to scratch his back again, but what did he have left to pluck? His wings were so sore that it was hard to keep standing. Like always, to not hurt Sahar's feelings, he'd hidden them from his sight. Maybe he suspected something was wrong, but never asked about them either.

Sandalphon's explanation as to why he was sad; he argued with Lucifer. A white lie, given like a flower, pretty petals while the stem was rotten. Sandalphon himself didn't quite understand what triggered the impulse to lie and harm himself, but it was irresistible.

Sahar tenderly took him into his arms and hugged him. He set a kiss on Sandalphon's forehead, cheek, nose lips, and neck. Uncomfortable electricity shot through Sandalphon's back as they hugged, and he let out a shivering sigh.

Sahar's kisses to his neck became wetter and more vigorous, sucking his Adam's apple. Sandalphon wasn't usually that pliant, but he gave him access, trying to ignore or protest to how his body was rejecting the growing heat. He was supposed to love this.

Sahar looked him in the eyes, his lips slightly pursed. Sandalphon avoided crossing their eyes, shivers running up and down his spine.

"Why won't you look at me anymore?" Sahar whispered, kissing the lobe of his ear.

Because he couldn't see the Speaker the same way anymore, and he wasn't sure why.

Receiving no reply, Sahar picked him up and carried him to the house.

They sat together for a while, and the sofa felt far away. Their kisses held a sickly-sweet taste, and Sandalphon's body itched wherever Sahar's hand crawled. Sandalphon didn't quite register when the door to the bedroom opened, neither when clothes started peeling off their skin.

When their tongues locked, he suddenly felt sick and twitched, but he didn't pull away. Sahar's caresses hadn't ever felt that way before, but he couldn't bring himself to push someone who loved him so deeply away. The mouth which sucked his nipple, and the tongue which tickled the tip felt slimy, and the teeth pinching it made his hips buck in revulsion. They rubbed against Sahar's hardening shaft.

Sandalphon was a problem, a chore, a threat to the world who didn't deserve such affection. He was horrible for hating the tender caresses, a hypocrite for accepting them. That horrible sensation could have been the flames threatening to cover his body and burn the person who loved him the most. He was terrified, and his response to fear was a desperate need for physical contact. The mix of contradicting impulses paralyzed him.

Sahar repeated how much he loved him, but Sandalphon wasn't able to reply anymore, only roll onto his knees and spread his legs mechanically. Sahar rubbed the lubricant between them, massaging his thighs. It was care which usually delighted Sandalphon, knowing he could bring pleasure beyond his own capacity to his beloved.

Submissively, he squeezed his thighs against Sahar's shaft the way he'd learned to, just thankful it wasn't down his throat. Why did tears come to his eyes as it rubbed against the unequipped part of his body, hard and hot? It was supposed to excite him. His entire body was an erogenous zone, but he knew they had some differences. Sahar could spend hours cuddling, but this time it was much faster and rougher.

The image of an accursed seed flashed before his closed eyes, the mouth of that person he didn't know, covered in red juices. Sahar hadn't explained anything, and he hadn't dared to insist. They'd taken up their lives as if nothing had happened. All that should have mattered was that Sahar loved him. The ending of the world seemed meaningless, even if it were during sex.

Maybe the Rapture would come once the Speaker tore him in half, took all of the pleasure he could get out of him, and decided to throw him away. Nothing was left, neither Mirin, neither Lucifer, neither Gabriel. Shalem had returned to the humans while he dealt with his distress by himself. He was alone with a dick fucking his thighs, in pursuit of pleasure. For the first time in his life, he felt like a "thing."

"San-chan, are you alright?" Sahar asked in between panting breaths, unbearable worry in his tone.

"I-I wish… I could…" Sandalphon said between his teeth, but the words didn't come.

"W-what?"

Why was Sahar holding his hips so strongly he could bruise? Sandalphon believed they shared equivalent pleasure, but now that he hated how dominated he felt, how helpless and alone he was, it turned out they didn't feel the same. Sahar was privileged and banging him straight into the bed.

He wished he could tell Sahar to stop. He wished Sahar weren't so insensitive and cared about how he felt, or stopped by himself. His treatment was brutal, animalistic, unlike the gentle lover he usually was. Why was he so angry?

Sahar's seed shot to the bottom of his abdomen. A scream was stuck in the pit of Sandalphon's stomach, and he couldn't move, frozen.

Suddenly, Sahar, ignoring his injured wings, flipped him onto his back. A yelp containing a pained yowl came out of his throat. He stared wide-eyed at Sahar, who was looking strangely at the cum on his stomach.

"What do you wish for, San-chan?" Sahar asked in a trembling voice. "What can't I give? Where am I failing this time? Have I failed again, and now Master's punishing me for that failure?" His voice broke, and his grip tightened, his hands shaking.

"Sahar, you're scaring me," Sandalphon said, "It hurts."

Sahar gasped and let go of his wrists. "S-sorry!" he said before hastily picking up his clothes and hurrying out of the room like a criminal, leaving his destroyed victim alone.

Sandalphon didn't dare to ask him about the letters anymore, but Sahar replied about what was happening in Etemenanki; The Omnipotent hadn't talked to him in months.

***

Michael hadn't seen Lucifer take the main entrance to the temple in a long while, and had asked him which path he usually took. The Arch Seraph invited him for a leisurely stroll, outside of their duties.

Michael had often walked around Eden's fence but hadn't ever found an entry or exit. The Garden spanned into nothingness, beyond the Silver City's limits. Michael laughed as he discovered it was set in the most obvious place possible, a small innocuous side-passage into the Grand Temple.

From the day Lucifer came back from the battlefield with a blue flower in his hair, he'd started taking the main entrance at day again. His steps were always hurried, his head high, and expression closed. Michael continued to pass through Eden's pathway after him, finding solace in the heavenly calm and greenery spilling over the barrier. The gate was always shut.

Michael couldn't help but wonder how it looked on the other side. A magical haze pulled an opaque curtain beyond a few steps through the gate. It happened to him to meditatively gaze into emptiness before he started his duties. Something was relaxing to that place as if the vapors of the void invited him into daydreaming.

Maybe it was the same for Lucifer on the evening Michael found him standing in front of the gate, his hand on the bars, as if he were shut out. He kneeled down and pushed a small bag through the gate. Curious, Michael took a step closer.

"What are you doing, Lucifer?" he asked.

The Arch Seraph didn't seem troubled by his presence, probably having sensed him long ago. "I tried cultivating some coffee beans, but doubt the recipient receives anything I send him," he said. "A crown is still waiting for me inside."

"Gabriel can be trusted with delivering messages. I didn't know you shared a passion for coffee with the Speaker."

Lucifer blinked a few times, and his wings fluttered, stifling a chuckle with a shake of his head. He rolled his tongue inside of his mouth a few times as if looking for the right words.

"No matter how I make it, my coffee doesn't taste the same without… Oh, never mind. Those are frivolous matters," Lucifer chuckled.

It couldn't have been a trivial matter if it affected the Arch Seraph to the point that he seemed ready to break the gate open. Still, there wasn't anything Michael could do in his position, except ask Gabriel about those lost letters. Lucifer needed a friend, and it looked like he'd lost a few in a short time.

"Do you come here often in the evening?" Michael asked, trying to be friendly.

Lucifer just smiled and remained silent, a wall standing tall between them. It never fell.

***

Lucifer had succeeded at his mission at eliminating the demon boy, Miguel. The mysterious knight hadn't managed to stop him this time. His victory felt bitter, but he had to report to Arbiter.

She was at an urgent meeting with all of the Speakers. They were discussing an issue that had been occupying Etemenanki for months. It concerned the Omnipotent and Sahar in particular; that's all she could disclose. Shalem was also part of the reunion. He wasn't in a hurry.

Defeating that Demon shouldn't have required any support, and beating the hordes of Orcs invading Mistarcia was a higher priority for Michael. Arbiter had called it an individual assignment. Put bluntly; they were less efficient together for a single target than by themselves.

Like every evening, Lucifer chose to take the detour along Eden's fence. A feeling in his guts something wasn't right on the other side kept him returning. In his rare hours of respite, the blue flame came to haunt his mind. Sandalphon might have scorned him for the way he treated Mirin, but his silence was concerning.

The gate had been locked for weeks, a cold incentive to give up and keep on his way. As per a strange habit, he couldn't explain, Lucifer put his hands against the gate and leaned forward. It moved and opened to his surprise.

He stood there, considering if it was a shy invitation, Sandalphon rebelling, or a mistake. Had the Speaker left again, and chosen him as a permanent guardian? Sahar had written he'd ended his mission, and ordered him to stay away.

Still, Lucifer couldn't help but gaze wistfully into the Garden. Something alarming attracted his eyes. It was black, flat, elongated, and curved.

Lucifer picked up a black feather. To his horror, he could confirm it belonged to a Fallen Angel. Frantic, Lucifer took a few steps further through the pebbled passage, searching around him, in the bushes, on the trees, and the grass.

There were other black feathers, the footprints of two soldiers, and a zig-zagging trail following them. This seemed to be a small group meant for infiltration or assassination. Either way, the path wasn't heading out, so Sandalphon hadn't followed anyone or left by himself.

If the Demons had been targeting the High council, the current gathering would have been an opportunity to take several Gods down in one go. The direction they were taking didn't make any strategical sense. Nothing in the Garden could have been of any interest to them.

The reunion occupying everyone, the disappearance of a key Shalem asked Lucifer about before they locked the gate; the circumstances seemed too convenient for having been unintentional or disorganized. The only angel in there was Sandalphon, alone, and he wasn't wary of Demons.

His sword drawn, Lucifer carefully made his way into the dark Garden, silently praying he wasn't too late.

Art: [Baby Sandalphon and the Blue Fire](https://twitter.com/NANO74546347/status/1251631360248291328)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone here needs a friend.
> 
> You can check the link to some art I made at the end of the chapter.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small warning for violence. Please excuse potential typos. No beta + long text and buggy revision tool.

"Are you sure they kept covering our back?" Samael whispered as she crawled after the tiptoeing leader of the group, two other demons sneaking after them.

"The Hell should I know? We are enemies, even with a similar goal. You have a pair of eyes on your rear, not me," Azazel said between his teeth.

Samael scoffed. He couldn't call her trusty familiar her rear! Her upper half looked human-like an Echidna would have been, her lower half serpentine with its own head, mouth, and eyes. Azazel could get away with being snarky because he was their boss for that mission, but she wasn't going to forget his insult anytime soon.

Samael didn't trust newbies to lead a kidnapping, not even the Arch Seraph's former lieutenant. The pain of the Fallen Angel's curse could turn the most loyal soldier into a sleazy rat. He could turn his latex pants and tail on them at any moment and save his perky hide, just like any demon would.

"Do you think I could turn those apples into gold?" Mammon asked, licking her lips as they slipped through the orchard.

"Stay focused," Egrigori said, "it would be troublesome if the snake notices us before we eliminate it. Pick the apples from the trees on the way back to Cocytus."

"Yay! Uh, sorry…" Mammon put her hand to her mouth, Azazel shooting a glare at her.

An excited shiver ran up Samael's long spine. There had been so many times she dreamt she'd cut that white snake's head off, felt its cold blood on her hands, and seen Sahar's distress on his face. She was going to take his other pet away as well. Alive, sadly, but just for the greater evil.

Azazel lifted a hand, and they all stopped, those with legs crouching down. He took a small map out that Mirin had drawn during one of her many interrogations.

Nobody trusted a Fallen Angel coming down from Heaven unscathed, nor that the Arch Seraph and a Speaker had let her go because she'd been kind to a Cupid. To the tormentors, Mirin was a spy, but no form of torture would change her version. She was unaware of the prophecy of the Dark Rapture but feverishly insisted blue flames had oozed out of Sandalphon until a white snake coiled around him.

She'd drawn and written down all of her memories several times to test her honesty until Azazel intervened and confirmed her facts. He knew the Arch Seraph was meeting an angel the Speaker kept locked in Eden. Lord Satan wanted the Cupid alive.

"Egrigori, you go check the greenhouse. Either Nahash is there, or it's in the house."

"Quite the artist we have," Egrigori sighed, looking at the map. There was a cute little 'Sandy' depiction, and his wings looked more like naked branches than wings. He was smiling on the image, tousled hair going in every direction.

"Can't I kill the snake?" Samael insisted, "It's personal."

"No," Azazel grunted, "Precisely because it's personal. Keep in line with the plan. Mammon will stay here as a vigil, and you have the assets to lure in the Cupid."

"Why Azazel, you could have told me my feminine beauty would be useful to seduce a Cupid!" Samael snorted, and he clicked his tongue. "Mammon has better _assets_ than me to convince an angel to follow her!"

The deceptive Mammon had put her finger on her pulpous lips and stared at Samael with her dead fish eyes, her huge tits bouncing like the laws of physics of their world wanted at the slightest breeze. She looked harmless, acted dumb, but the Gluttons were that way only to surprise and devour their unsuspecting prey. She could have turned the Cupid into gold, and exposed him in her gallery of horrors if they hadn't needed to bring him back alive.

"I meant," he growled between his teeth, "You're famous for corrupting angels, but I didn't notice you are feminine."

"Why you—"

A punch landed on Azazel's and her head. Egrigori’s pasty white and expressionless face seemed just 0.0001% annoyed. The former Seraph was strong enough to equal even Lucifer, and in any other circumstance, he'd been their leader. The Depraved One seemed curious about Azazel and to believe in his competences, so he was there as their tank in case they faced more powerful an enemy than they expected.

"Stick to the plan," he said softly, "You can have fun with our target in Hell as much as you like. I'll cut that snake's head like the Speaker did your brother's. I swear on my pride, I'll avenge you."

Samael relaxed. Now that was what she wanted to hear.

Belial, her dear brother Belial who loved his master in Eden so much, served them faithfully, talked to them genuinely, and freed them from their golden cage, only to have his head cut off by the Speaker! He did everything by love and his reward? Death. The pain had driven Samael insane, and she fell during a vengeful frenzy, her grief manifesting on her legs in his shape.

Egrigori was the cool-headed one of the group, and while she couldn't exact her revenge the way she wanted to, his emotions wouldn't have led him to failure. Once they had what they needed from Sandalphon, she was going to destroy the little Cupid who meant everything to that monster. Lord Satan only needed his blue flames, not his vessel.

Azazel kept hidden in the bushes while Samael crawled towards the small wooden house at the end of the pebble path. As expected from Heaven, it was prim and proper, everything lovingly tended to, save for the slightly sagging orchids at the window. The lights were lit, and the flannel curtains weren't closed. If it weren't for that snake they feared, they'd have gone through the door and picked up their target directly.

Something moved inside, and Samael watched through the night vision of her snake. There was the Angel Mirin described in loving detail, with his wavy brown hair, soft facial features, and antique clothing. He seemed to be from another time, left behind and forgotten. Nobody dressed that way anymore. The Cupid was pensively holding a cup of coffee in his hands, seated on a couch.

He stared at the cup for a while, and she noticed he was pale. His hands had started shaking, and his feet stamping. Had he sensed her presence? Improbable, because if what Mirin said was right, he wasn't afraid of demons. He looked like a doe, paralyzed by fear rather than fighting or fleeing, staring into the cup.

She could taste salty tears on the tip of her serpentine tongue, the delicious scent of anguish. Sandalphon's heart was racing. His hands were shaking, and he set the cup on the table, leaning against it, his breath labored. Was he about to start burning? That was a sight she wanted to see.

Instead, he suddenly stood up, opened a closet, put a cape with a hood over his shoulders, and ran out of the house into the woods.

"Has he seen us?!" Azazel whispered, scrambling to her.

"I don't know!" Samael groaned.

The two demons chased after him.

***

There was a time Sandalphon feared the darkness in Eden at night because being upset by it meant he was alone. Sahar and Shalem had gone for an extraordinary reunion. Other than his own issues, Sahar wanted to discuss Sandalphon's fate in Eden, and the unknown consequences frightened him more than the night.

He looked at the stars through his window. Up there, higher than the constellations, lay Etemenanki. Was Sahar planning to send him there, in the tall tower amongst the stars, unreachable and far from everything? He sensed something in the air, a foreboding sensation as if danger was coming his way.

He listened to the rustling leaves, to the narrow stream rushing nearby. Branches cracked, something maybe crawling on a tree. It sounded like a giant snake was slithering through the leaves, probably Nahash. The white snake had been his only companion for an eternity, more than just a pet. He wondered if he should bid her farewell, in case the Speaker took him away forever.

Looking at the window, the many trees were closing in, surrounding him like the bars of a cage. He couldn't help but shift closer to his oil lamp and stop looking outside. There was nothing there, nothing looking at him, only him, alone with his anxiety. A pendulum was swinging somewhere over his head, a weight crushing his lungs. Breathing had become difficult, and he gasped, bending over and holding to the table.

Sandalphon suddenly feared to never see the garden again. He wasn't going to be able to water his orchids. What were they going to do to his wine barrels, the little path he tended to every day, the thermae, the tree from which he was born? The cup in his hands had cooled down and felt distant. What was going to happen to his house, his books, his flowers, his plants, his coffee, Lucifer?

Lucifer. Sandalphon was choking, and everything was swaying.

Before he could think about what he was doing, he was running into the forest, his head covered by a hood. An invisible enemy was after him, going to take him away from everything he knew and loved. The unknown had claws and sharp teeth and red eyes and a long tongue. It was all in his head, but even his botched wings had started fluttering, hanging miserably out of his back. The sting couldn't ground him, his racing heart couldn't ground him, he was panicking.

Unable to fly, Sandalphon ran, tumbled and stood up, and ran deeper into the darkness, straight ahead. The trees were trying to stop him, knotty long and clawed fingers were reaching out for him, he was trapped, unable to leave, unable to ever go out, but he wanted to leave, but he wanted to stay. He wanted to see Lucifer again.

He tumbled on a stone and fell onto his head.

***

The two demons had caught up with the Angel, and he'd hit his head on a rock. Angels had sturdy heads and couldn't die from such a stupid accident. He was unconscious but still breathing and barely bleeding.

"Do we pick 'em up like this? He's pretty much out cold," Azazel asked, scratching behind his neck, grimacing.

They could have, but that would have taken all of the fun away from Samael. She wanted to speak with her prey, play with it a little before she showed her true colors. To her satisfaction, he stirred, and Azazel had to hide again. She turned entirely into a snake and went to hide inside the high grass.

The Cupid groaned and rolled onto his back before propping himself up. There was a bad gash on his forehead, but like every celestial being, it was healing at sight. He checked around him stupidly, looking at the stars and the endless plains.

"This place," he mumbled, "This is where I…" He pushed himself up and kept walking.

She stalked him for a while, the oblivious Cupid not sensing her presence even once. Samael loved the thrill of potentially being caught chasing, but this was as easy as following a dumb pigeon in the capital's plaza. He stopped at a place and took a pose as if reaching out for someone. Maybe he was going to use magic. Samael waited, but nothing happened.

He gave up, shaking his head, and sat down, sighing. A crow settled next to Samael, its fluttering wings attracting Sandalphon's attention. It was Egrigori’s signal the snake was dead. Samael stifled a delighted squeal. Egrigori would have told her to go directly for the target, but she could take a bit more time. The Council's meeting was for the entire night.

Where was Sandalphon going, neither towards the house and away from the plains? It was easy to follow him through the trees in the dark forest. He walked on a dirt path, turning at several places. It felt like a maze. Egrigori was going to have some trouble finding them, but through the crow's eyes, he could remember.

Samael recognized the place, shuddering in anger. Her brother used to live here and lost his head on one of those branches. There stood, immense, the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. Sandalphon knew the path by heart at night? That was improbable, but maybe certain instincts guided him.

Sandalphon took one of the fruits that had fallen on the ground, and studied it up close, and broke it in half, the juices of the rotten apple dribbling down his fingers. Samael had an epiphany at that moment.

The Rotten Apple of Eden!

The blue flame, her brother's death, the Speaker hiding a Cupid inside the garden, everything made sense. So, this was why Lord Satan sent her to Eden without putting her in charge or letting her take care of Nahash. She was the only of the four who knew the Rotten Apple of Eden, and their plan for the Grand Finale.

She crawled down the tree and attracted Sandalphon's attention by making a few fruits fall to the ground. He flinched. As expected, his first reaction wasn't to run away. How could he have known about the fruit, lest the Speaker told him something? She still had to find out.

"You're that black snake from Sahar's dream," he said, and she felt like laughing, laughing at how ridiculously easy it was!

Should she talk now, and risk startling him? Maybe he could understand Nahash as well, and her ability to speak not come as a surprise. She moved and dropped another fruit, and another, to make a statement. He seemed to catch on quickly, picking them up.

"If you are part of this tree," he asked, the sweet summer child, "do you know what it means for an angel to be born from the forbidden fruit?"

Of course, she knew; amongst angels, it meant discrimination, that he'd be shunned and treated no better than a demon. Nephilim, the earthly Sons of God and sons of Angels, were the pariah, the untouchable from Heaven, their presence only partially tolerated. It meant that they could have looked like her brother, dark wings, and red eyes called worthless from birth and destined to fall.

"It means a frustrating, lonely, and sad life," she replied truthfully, and her voice startled him, frozen by her spontaneous reply.

She continued, meaning to keep his curiosity up and his guard down. "It means their wings aren't white or a vivid color like every other angel's."

He glanced over his shoulder, his plucked wings out. Those didn't heal as quickly as everything else, his mana and ether depleted, defenseless, and offered to the predator hanging above him.

"It means they have no rights, and nobody in Heaven will ever respect them."

"The Speaker respects me!" Sandalphon snapped, falling into her trap, but his voice shivered, uncertainty in it.

"Are you a Nephilim? Then it also means you owe all of your privilege and your presence here to the Speaker. He can do whatever he wants to you, can't he?" she asked.

Sandalphon put his hands around his shoulders, and she reveled in the small shivers that caused the Cupid.

"It means if you leave this garden and live in Heaven, nobody will love you for what you are. They will only ever see you as a Nephilim," she said, crawling lower, closer to him.

"Lucifer always treated me right!" Sandalphon said, color rising in his cheeks, maybe anger or embarrassment, or fear, she couldn't tell.

"He did? Without following a Speaker's orders?" she chuckled, her face a step from his, ready to bite him at the throat if he tried to run away.

He swallowed his spit and looked away. "I guess… Shalem told him to come back…"

"And once they didn't need him at your side anymore, did he insist on staying?"

Sandalphon's lips narrowed, and eyebrows furrowed. "He got angry because I was nice to a demon. Sahar said Lucifer didn't want to see me again."

Samael sniggered. It validated her perception of the Angel society to hear that even isolated in Eden, her kind still suffered just by existing.

"The Arch Seraph would know a Nephilim if he saw one, even if you tried hiding your wings. Hasn't someone taught you painful purification rituals you must follow every day, and to avoid showing your wings?"

Sandalphon was shaking, flushed to the ears. She'd hit the spot, and just for a second, was able to relate to his pain.

"I prayed every day and whipped myself until my wings tore! I do everything Arbiter Mortis tells me to do to be a worthy angel. I've only ever given myself to Sahar, and I didn't ever let temptation take over me!"

Oh, that Angel was a treat! The Nephilim were born from the primal sin between angels, abandoned from birth. If he was the vessel of the blue flame and protected by the Speaker, that made him something different. Only the Almighty, Arbiter Mortis, and Lord Satan might have known what. Not like she was going to comfort him and tell him that.

Samael had crawled over his leg and was now face to face with him, staring him right in the eye with her unblinking fiery red snake eyes.

"You are under the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. What do you think is true evil? Have you ever tried eating one to know?"

Sandalphon hesitated, just brushing the fruit with the tip of his fingers. "I have eaten from this tree, and nothing ever happened to me."

"Have you never questioned the Speaker's choices?" she asked, leaning in, now practically over his waist.

Sandalphon took the green fruit she'd offered, as large and heavy as a human head. He suddenly shoved it into her mouth, and she instinctively bit down, the juices startling her, her jaw stuck.

The Cupid scrambled up and started running. "I don't need to eat that to know you're evil!"

Samael spat the fruit, hissed, and pounced on her prey. That fool believed it would be easy to escape a demon? That flightless little sparrow thought it could fly? No, his wings were botched, and all he had was a pair of scrawny legs that would snap with one bite from her. She was going to cut his legs and wings, tear through his throat and pull out his eyes and devour him!

Sandalphon tumbled on a root, and that was her opening. She bit one of his wings, his cry music to her ears. Azazel shouted something, but she couldn't care less. This was her prey, and she could break it, rip through his toga while the small thing squirmed under the weight of her cursed body.

This was for the Speaker, for what he did to her brother. If she couldn't corrupt that Cupid, then she was going to traumatize him, maybe even find a way to bring the flames out. His slaps and hits were nothing, and she was laughing as he tried to claw at her. What a feisty little kitten!

It smelled of blood and fear, exciting her as she coiled around the screaming Cupid, Nephilim, or whatever that wretched thing was. He belonged to the Speaker, and that was reason enough to pack him whole and press down, watching him go blue in the face. Hurting him tingled sweetly there where she and the snake joined. It was terrific, just the moment before their spines snapped when their bodies tensed and foam shaped at their mouth, the immortals suffering, unlike anything a puny mortal could survive.

"Let him go, you fiend!" Someone shouted, and she had a split second to stop a sword from slicing her in half.

The snake, now her sword, had let go of the Cupid, unconscious on the ground. Maybe she'd broken her prey in half, but she didn't have much time to think. Facing her, the Arch Seraph, unbridled fury on his twisted face. Again a shot of maniacal glee at the raw anger.

Lucifer became this emotional for that Cupid? He'd seemed so focused on her and Sandalphon, he'd missed Azazel entirely. The demon was standing idiotically, frozen on the spot in shock.

They'd received no warning. Mammon, where was Mammon? Lucifer might have killed the vigil before she could even scream. How had Lucifer found them?

"What are you waiting for? Help me, Azazel!" she spat.

"A-Azazel?" Lucifer gasped, still keeping his eyes on Samael.

"Where's your allegiance, fool?! Have you forgotten what we've been through?!" she roared, struggling to avoid and counter the Arch Seraph's lightning-fast blows.

Swords shrieked, and Samael had an opening to withdraw. Azazel had moved, at last, standing between them, snarling and eyes blown wide. Lucifer fought with three blades, and they were two against him, but he had another disadvantage. Unlike him, they weren't trying to protect anyone but themselves.

"Go for the brat, Azazel, or kill Lucifer! He's—" she almost bit her tongue, a blow landing on her side, breaking a rib or two, but that wasn't much compared to her curse.

"It's the golden— Opportunity—To defeat the Angels," she wheezed.

Lucifer was alone, facing two of the strongest Demons of Cocytus, including his former lieutenant. Samael didn't know what kind of relationship they used to have, but Azazel preferred to go for Sandalphon. He was going to run away and take all of the credit if they died! That traitor!

If the Arch Seraph's head could fall under her sword, Lord Satan would have made her a General or the leader of a tribe. The Cupid could wait to play in Hell, but Azazel… He wasn't going to get away with betraying her!

"Azazel, I just need you! One more to destroy Heaven! What are your little old feelings compared to the fate of your brethren?!" she shouted, and Azazel flinched. "You too, have survived Arbiter's torture and imprisonment. That 'friend' of yours had as well abandoned you and left you for dead!"

Lucifer's strength faltered for just a second. "That's right! Arbiter tortures and imprisons angels until they go insane and fall!" she hissed.

"Shut up, demon. Your lies won't make me sway!"

Lucifer's strength went twofold and almost broke her sword. He punched Azazel out of the way, turning back to Samael. Her snake spat fire, but he avoided it quickly, sending rays of ether right at her. They were going to lose. Samael saw his blade fall down on her.

"Gargh!" Droplets of blood splattered on her face.

Egrigori had driven a blade through Lucifer's side. Azazel was staring, his eyes wide and face twisted a bestial scowl. Egrigori pulled the sword out just as quickly, Lucifer kicking him into the air. Azazel swore and drove one of his flying snakes through Lucifer's throat.

The Arch Seraph looked so betrayed and hurt, the face Samael wanted to see on the Speaker, similar enough that her breath hitched in delight. They couldn't kill Lucifer with that little power. They had to all go on him at once, at the same time.

"Shit! Fucking shiiit!" Azazel roared as Lucifer let go of his blades and sagged.

Egrigori was already plunging for the killing strike, and she shakily took hold of her sword again. They were going to win, kill the highest General of Heaven, all glory be to them! Heaven would not have fallen all at once, but the morale drop like never before.

Blue was glowing in the corner of her eye, something whistled, and Grigori suddenly deviated and crashed into the tree.

Sandalphon was standing with difficulty, blue flames occasionally spurting out of his pores. He was glaring at them, small on his shaky legs, tiny compared to the enormous golden bow he carried. That was a real Cupid's Bow. It couldn't hurt anyone.

"Whaddya gonna do? Make us all fall in love?" Azazel snorted, unaware of the power of those blue flames, simple executant sent to abduct a little Cupid.

Sandalphon wasn't responsive, staring right through them, the flames covering his body and the bow. He took out a shining arrow, and it burned with the blue fire. If that ended the world, Samael was okay with it. That was their ultimate goal as demons. Only a few wanted to rule, and she was part of the nihilists.

"Get out of the way! All that fire is going to do now is reduce us to ashes!" Egrigori yelled, apparently more informed than any of them about the flame’s specific powers.

"You're going to strike Lucifer too!" Samael warned, just to stop him long enough to disarm him, but it didn't work.

He pulled the string with the arrow directed at her. Egrigori tried to disarm him, but his wings and hair took fire. He fell to the ground, screaming in pain and rolling on himself to light them off.

"Get…" Sandalphon growled, "The hell out of my garden, you filthy bitch!"

Lucifer suddenly jabbed Azazel, thrust him out of the way. He spat blood, but his throat was already healing. Azazel shot one of his snakes at Sandalphon, who flinched as the snake snapped close to his face before burning. He looked at his body, seeming to realize he was on fire.

"Sandalphon!" Lucifer cried, running for him.

"Sandalphon!" Someone else shouted, with the same voice as Lucifer.

The Speaker was there. They had to flee, but not without a little revenge. Samael gathered what remained of her power, aiming at Sandalphon. If they couldn't have his flames tonight, she could at least try to behead the Arch Seraph.

"Lucifer, watch out!"

Sandalphon let go of the arrow. It whistled. When Samael shot, someone kicked her in the back of her head. Her aim was off!

A few silent seconds passed. Samael saw a pair of bare brown feet with long black nails floating towards Sandalphon, but stopping midway. Her Holiness swore.

"Thank goodness… Thank goodness I noticed the gate…" The huskiness of Lucifer's voice sounded out of place, strange for the context.

Someone picked her up, and they were flying as fast as they could. It was Mammon in her monstrous and furry demonic form, carrying Samael in her gigantic paw.

"I thought you were dead," Samael hissed.

"Do you think I'd have fought Lucifer on my own, or betrayed my location by alerting you?!" Mammon growled between her sharp teeth.

She was just busy eating those apples and hadn't even noticed him, Samael thought.

Azazel and Egrigori followed them as they fled as quickly as they could. The Angels were going to catch and imprison them, probably. Before she blacked out, Samael had a familiar sensation, an instinct telling her they had done some terrible evil.

What a relief.

***

Blood was trickling on Sandalphon's head in their embrace. His arms had opened wide, and Lucifer hugged him with all of the little strength he had left. They were both shaking from head to toe, between adrenaline and blissful dizziness.

Sandalphon knew what his arrows could do, but never used them because of the Speaker's warnings. Yet, he'd never felt so happy before, so comfortable in someone's arms. He inhaled deeply, and the sensation was akin to having drunken a full bottle of wine.

"Thank goodness… Thank goodness I noticed the gate…"

Could the Arch Seraph's voice shake that way? He sounded vulnerable, close to tears even though it was low and sent shivers down his spine. Sandalphon noticed some of his flames were on Lucifer's skin, but they weren't burning him. He glowed a soft blue, and Sandalphon's heart wouldn't stop pounding in his chest.

He felt weak in the legs, looking at the bloodied face and throat. Lucifer had always been beautiful, a shining Seraph, but something was different. The squeeze in Sandalphon's chest was familiar, but so much more engaging than what he'd ever experienced, he couldn't look away.

The flames were brushing Lucifer's lips, full and sweet and pink and ready. Was that concern in his expression, in how he licked them, and his white eyelashes fluttered nervously that put butterflies into Sandalphon's stomach? His embrace was firm and fond. Sandalphon didn't want him to let go, ever.

"I-I missed you," Sandalphon mumbled.

Lucifer's lips met his, feverishly hot and flaming, and secure and tender, and everything he ever wanted.

"Sandalphon!" Sahar shouted.

The dream broke, and Sandalphon felt the poisonous shards in his skin.

Three white wings shielded an embarrassed Cupid from the Speaker's indignation. Wrapped in the shadow of Lucifer, he kept his eyes down, covering his guilty lips as if he were kissing a holy relic.

A battlefield on the sacred ground wasn't a place to kiss, but the pull had been irresistible. Unsure of who had initiated it, Sandalphon took the guilt upon himself, but Lucifer covered his head with the hood of his ripped cape and held his head against his chest.

Hiding the object of his crime wasn't much use, because his arm was bleeding from the fragments of the broken arrow, and his face was pink with shame and the spell of love. The Speaker stared at the blood and golden shards, pain in his eyes.

Lucifer was better at hiding the pieces of the arrow deep in his injured side, but Sandalphon could feel one pricking his palm. Lucifer's face wasn't red, but his lips still glowed from the blue flame which had licked them, and he wasn't moving. The hand on the small of Sandalphon's back was assertive, enraptured, and decided.

They had to keep appearances up because they had to fool the Speaker to stay together. Still, their bodies moved on their own, protecting each-other from the growing wrath of a God.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I don't know how to comment on this chapter. It sometimes happens I update a chapter with art or extra comments a few days later. You can check former chapters if you haven't seen any art on this story or are not following me on my Twitter.
> 
> I wonder if the theme of Nephilim will come up in any new Angel event on GBF, because it's a beloved theme in angel-centric mangas/anime. Angel Sanctuary has an entire arc on them, but that's a pretty old one you might not know. The Lucifer in that one is pretty hot too, and there is a Sandalphon. 
> 
> Also, about Beast & Sandalphon: I've added a comment on the last chapter about why it is taking so long to update. Of course, not everyone who is reading this story is reading the other, but I don't want to spoil either of my works ;)
> 
> Feel free to interact with me on Twitter!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up.

The greenhouse was only the shadow of its former self, glass shattered, rubble, and a lingering smell of burned wood. Lucifer helped Sandalphon walk, and Shalem supported Lucifer, while Sahar stood by himself as broken as the glass wall.

Sandalphon wouldn't spare Sahar one glance, his attention entirely on Lucifer. It took him a long time to notice the greenhouse was destroyed, a much longer moment for Nahash to even cross his spellbound mind or even matter. She'd been everything to him, a friend, a sister, a nanny, a pet, yet at that moment, she was a shadow in the corner of his head.

"Lucifer?" rolled out of his lips rather than her name.

"I'll send her off," Sahar said, delicately, feeling like his body had left his spot long ago already.

Sandalphon's lips shivered, and he fumbled for a reply, but then gave up. Sahar went to comfort his beloved, but he turned his head away with a gasp, hiding it against Lucifer's chest. The Arch Seraph, his mind more resistant than the Cupid's, couldn't do more than throw an apologetic glance at Sahar, and forget him just as quickly.

"We'll grow new flowers for her grave, alright?"

The Cupid's back twitched, and he remembered the injury, breathing in sharply. He held to his aching chest, unable to curl in or stand straight. Without ether, a celestial being was no more than a mortal, and their wings held that power. Lucifer could barely stand on his feet either, both of them swaying as if they were standing precariously on a careening ship, Shalem grunting in displeasure.

"Shalem, tend to San-chan's wounds," Sahar said, the weight on his back as crushing as the entire earth.

"If I can, yeah," she grumbled, Lucifer grinding his teeth and Sandalphon whining as she forced them to sit apart. It was going to be a struggle.

As soon as he turned his heels to complete his task, a group of angels came flying. The Garden hadn't ever been so full, so intolerably full, Sahar thought, those necessary intruders having broken into their sanctuary for a report on the escaping Demons. They saluted their General.

"One managed to escape, Lord Lucifer," the soldier said

Lucifer replied with a dismissive wave towards Sahar, and stuck his hands between his legs as Sandalphon, groaning and grunting like an animal, reached desperately for him. That night, he wasn't anyone's General, only a witness and under a terrible spell. Their skin was fluttering and their blood stirring, their hearts jumping with the nerves under their injured muscles. Sahar felt the electricity between them, and it prickled at his skin.

As soon as he closed his eyes to calm down, he saw the blue fire arrow and the ball of shadow colliding, heard the terrible cracking sound of the shaft, the splinters flying everywhere, some of them hitting Sandalphon, others Lucifer. Their kiss was the last of his concerns, but that sound, that terrible sound... It was as if the bones of his entire body were breaking at once.

"Which one?" Sahar asked, his throat dry and a cold sweat running down his neck.

"White-haired male, a tribal tattoo under his eye. Lord Michael took him in pursuit. We think he was the group's leader. We're putting the others through interrogation," the soldier replied.

Sahar took a deep breath and gasped at Sandalphon's first cry. Shalem had begun stitching his torn wings with her own ether.

"San-chan—" Sahar said, but then, Sandalphon's eyes were on him, really on him, and all he saw was disgust and fear and betrayal. His body shrank in as if he couldn't stand even a feather-light touch.

"Don't touch me!" Sandalphon hissed.

Trying to ignore the deep sting in his chest, Sahar leaned to Shalem's ear and whispered, "I'm going to Nahash."

He went to her with his invisible limp in the heart.

***

Sahar despised snakes, but Nahash was an exception. He stood alone in the center of the tattered greenhouse, staring down at what remained of the white snake at his feet. Sandalphon didn't have to see her like this or see the tears on his face. His crutches had broken when nobody was watching.

The grass had absorbed most of the snake's blood, but some of it still hung to the blades. The wind blew through the broken windows and the bent iron frames, a faint smell of burnt wood still lingering. They'd trampled the flowers, broken the vases, bent and snapped the branches of the trees in their ultimate battle. Sandalphon, in his right mind, couldn't have stood the sight. Sahar couldn't stand it either, and couldn't stop sobbing.

Nahash's white scales glowed under the moon, and her yellow reptilian eyes were indifferent to her death, glazed and empty. She'd preferred to die in this shape than fought with her legs and hands. Maybe she'd forgotten she had them since the last time she used them was eons ago. The Nephilim had preferred to die a beast than an angel of her kind.

The murderer's intention was clear, an apple left behind. Satan remembered his Eve. Sahar hated apples, but he'd kept an entire orchard and tended to it and the secrets hidden inside when he could. Now, almost everything from his past was destroyed, gone, or dead, even the orchard, pillaged by a Glutton. Only Sandalphon was left, and the Demons knew he existed.

He remembered that look of fear and disgust. Sandalphon wasn't in his right mind, even though his eyes stared right through the Speaker, into him, and found something disgusting. He belonged to Sahar, and the Speaker was free to touch his beloved as he pleased.

He prayed for a while, but the Almighty kept indifferent. The odds were against him. Was it rebellion, to refuse the fate of the universe to be between the hands of what he righteously possessed? Sandalphon was his mission, his chance at redemption, but was slipping between his hands.

A small Cupid, brown wings, and hair fluffy, but with the curse of apple-red eyes and blue flames, an innocent society in Heaven would have treated as lesser than human. Sahar had done well to isolate him from society. He'd offered him absolute freedom in a limitless dimension, and what did he want? Lucifer and to know the world.

It was ugly, innocent women and children burning, wars breaking everywhere, evil kings ruling, inequalities as deep as the Infernal Pit. All he'd known was the goodness of the Garden, Sahar's kindness, and a few select people. Gabriel was the purest and kindest of angels, but her letters were unwelcome. Come in that source of conflict, Lucifer, and now, he was under a spell and rejecting his beloved Speaker.

The Council was going to come for Sandalphon if the Demon's say too much during their interrogation. They were going to take him away, and those least suited for their place in the Heavens were going to fight for his power. He was Sahar's mission, and he should only ever have kept his faith in his guardian.

"Oh Master, if only I could hear you tell me what to do right now…" Sahar said, his throat tight, rubbing his shoulders.

Nothing replied, no miracle occurred. Sahar was alone, with a dead snake and an apple, laughing and crying as an insane idea crossed his mind.

He had no crutches.

***

Sandalphon poured all of his heart into Lucifer's cup, forgetting it to marvel at his beautiful visage and only minding it spilled because it might have hurt the apple of his eye. He apologized in a panic, his hands flailing as they held a towel he didn't dare to set. The Arch Seraph didn't hiss at the burn, just smiled, and smiled, something seething in the background, distantly, distantly, distantly.

Sahar's sneer was as thin as paper and didn't reach his closed eyes. He didn't want to see. Shalem's were wide open, fearing an upcoming deluge, looking at the first drops hanging in the air. The fading stars in the sky were about to rain down, Lucifer with them.

The spellbound couple was alone in their little world, their shadows kissing on the table in an upside-down tower, stretching with the low sun of the dawn. The top of their intersecting heads was poking at Sahar's chest. He held his cup as firmly between both of his hands as if it would slip between his fingers like a wet fish if he didn't.

"Is it to your taste, _Lord_ Lucifer?" Sandalphon asked, a pink glow never leaving his cheeks, his tone honey, and his dark blown pupils licorice.

"Very much Sandalphon. It's an excellent fruity brew," Lucifer replied, his lips kissing the rim of the cup as the last drop dripped shamelessly into his mouth.

"Then I'm delighted," Sandalphon gasped, too entranced by each of the Arch Seraph's breaths to even think of breathing himself.

Their gazes crossed, and there was fire, not the blue one, but the white rising sun shining behind them, blinding and painful. Shalem squinted, preferring to see the glow of their divine love than the void around Sahar. The Speaker had become a dying star, a supermassive black hole growing in their total indifference.

He didn't know how to show anger, despair, sadness, anything, so he smiled, a behavior mimicked from humans. Just like the Almighty, he kept watching them through the lidded eyes of an icon. He sat on iron, his head tipping to the side, his feet nailed to the ground.

Sandalphon took the empty cup from Lucifer, who dared to set his hand onto Sandalphon's wrist, and through chapped, dry, thirsty lips, he asked, "May I have more?"

Sahar's eyes opened wide, burned through the sun, steaming with the last thing he could hold passionately, possessively, between his hands. It was not meant for him, not thought for him. His Garden, his Eden was now full of Lucifer, his cup full of Lucifer, Lucifer's name repeated through Sandalphon's lovesick lips, those flaming lips he'd been stolen from by Lucifer, in front of his shattering blue eyes.

"Please feel free to take everything that's left in the pot, Lord Lucifer… Or should I make some more?" Sandalphon asked.

"Trying it with some sugar would be love—"

Sahar rapped his cup against its plate, cutting Lucifer's reply in half with its clarion call. They seemed to notice his existence again, and Lucifer cleared his throat. It had taken hours of them hugging to bring some sense back into their speech.

" _Lord_ Lucifer," Sahar said, the honorific raising the hair in the back of Shalem's neck, "I am eternally grateful for having saved my San-chan."

Sandalphon had lowered his eyes and grimaced as if he were stuck in a choke-hold. He rubbed his fingers together nervously as if to seize the string again and not let it go.

Lucifer's expression was unreadable, but his purple eyes shot right back at Sahar, shooting into the supermassive black hole without hesitation or fear. He held his ground but was strong enough not pettily to pull his Sandalphon closer. Lucifer let go of his wrist.

"Is there anything you wish for I might be able to offer? You already have the highest rank an Archangel could reach, but I must give you a token of my recognition."

A sneer curled on the corner of Lucifer's lips, recognizing the provocation. The nature of that question was cruel, ignoring the fact he was an Angel, testing his loyalty even under a spell. Archangels weren't allowed to desire anything, to need anything, but he physically needed to hold Sandalphon close, to cover his lips with his own and chant praises and odes to his beloved. They stayed a respectable meter apart, more putting Sandalphon into tears.

"The only thing I could demand," he articulated, careful with his words, "Is to spend some more time with Sandalphon."

Sahar pensively caressed the handle of his cup, readying his next blow. Sandalphon was too taken in Lucifer's shine to notice their joust. His lips had parted, his eyes twinkling in awe. Shalem just saw the ugly truth.

"Oh my!" Sahar said with a bright but icy smile, "I guess we could spend some more time together, but what shall we do together? Rebuild the greenhouse?"

"Sahar," Shalem hissed, "I believe we have more important subjects to discuss… Like how they got that key if it wasn't from Mirin like the Glutton said!"

Sandalphon tipped his head to the side, and his narrow glance told Sahar that he could barely remember that person. Everyone else than Lucifer was insignificant. Maybe he watched Shalem and wondered who she was and why she was there. Was she even relevant?

Lucifer, only seeing his potential rival, fumbled with his words, trapped. He glanced at Sandalphon, who seemed to catch on with what was happening, and an angry red flush appeared under his creasing frown.

"I don't want you to be with us!" Sandalphon said, slapping any form of etiquette away and into the Speaker's face. "I want to be with him alone!"

Lucifer blushed, and the Speaker's jaw dropped, Shalem laughing her lungs out. That was the Sandalphon she'd known and raised! No angel in Heaven could say something like that except him, the unhinged Cupid. Maybe the spell was in for some of his heftiness.

"Leave them be, Sahar," she said.

The Speaker pursed his lips, "I'll have another cup," he said, but Sandalphon wasn't going to take that as an answer.

"Only if you leave us alone! And even if you do, don't you expect even one second that would deserve any of my gratitude, you hypocrite!"

Sahar's grimace was priceless, and Lucifer seemed about to fall to Sandalphon's knees and kiss his feet, worshipping his new Holiness, or horniness, or whatever was going through his body to enrage him so.

"That's not an appropriate way to speak to me!" Sahar said, and Sandalphon snarled.

"You ought to have told me manners when I didn't have a Cupid's arrow under the skin! I'm burning, Sahar, and that's not a fire you can turn off! In fact, you're a turn-off, a villain, a jailer!"

"Sandalphon…" Lucifer was covering his face with both his hands, his shoulders shaking as he stifled his raging need to roar in laughter.

"You're under a spell, Sandalphon, but don't disrespect me. I am still in charge here," Sahar warned, shrinking into his seat.

"Precisely!" Sandalphon insisted, energetically nodding. "I'm under a spell, and I have an urgent need for Lucifer to step on me for some reason. You, on the other hand, ever since you did that strange thing to me that other night—"

"Sandalphon!" Sahar had risen his voice for the first time and barked so loud, unaccustomed to such a reaction, Sandalphon had flinched.

A short silence followed, Lucifer folded in half, trying to digest the knowledge Sandalphon wanted some stomping rather than kisses, and Shalem was too stunned to speak. What strange thing was Sandalphon trying to talk about that made his eyes crinkle in sadness?

The Speaker breathed in deeply, rubbing his temples in circles. "I will leave you alone, but you must understand why I kept you here!"

Lucifer and Sandalphon leaned in, eager and hopeful, the spell muddling their judgment and focusing their attention on the chance for privacy. Maybe Sandalphon didn't even care about Sahar's reasoning at that moment.

"Love between two Angels is forbidden and gives birth to Nephilim! Also, those Demons spilled the beans, and you're in danger."

Lucifer reluctantly agreed, Sandalphon inching towards him, and Shalem wishing she could also crawl towards someone and hold onto someone else than herself. She missed a human friend down on earth.

Lassitude drew creases under the Speaker's eyes, and suddenly, he lowered his head and started shivering. "If only I could still hear Master, I'd have returned earlier! I'd have—"

He took in a deep breath, pushing the strands of long hair out of his face. He looked like a mere mortal, beaten, and worn out.

"Sahar…" Sandalphon whispered his name for the first time in what felt like months.

"Master is silent. We tried to come back earlier, but Arbiter Mortis and the Council kept pressuring us, saying it was just a matter of time, and we must be there at His return. We never wanted to leave you alone for so long," Shalem explained.

"You say… Our Lord hasn't issued any orders in that long?" Lucifer asked, talking slowly, and his voice strained.

With Sahar's confirmation, the Arch Seraph mumbled, "Then, that Demon child I killed—" He seemed troubled by something else than not having Sandalphon in his arms. That was an improvement.

Whatever was preoccupying him wasn't their concern at that moment, so Shalem brushed it off. Arbiter Mortis gave the angels orders for the sake of keeping the peace. Knowing he'd become silent could have caused a general panic in the Silver City. If Arbiter told Lucifer to kill a Demon, then there was no questioning it.

"Then, San-chan," Sahar sighed, "We'll leave you both alone for a while. Consume your passion if you must, but never let me hear what you did."

Both Speaker's stood up. Shalem thought it was over, relief washing over her. In the end, they could solve the issue diplomatically. Praised be Sahar's wisdom and strength of mind.

The Speaker of Dawn went to the Cupid and set a tender kiss on top of his head. Sandalphon trembled but accepted it as a necessary evil. Lucifer stirred, but that was just a ripple announcing a wave.

Shalem felt the air shiver just so slightly, but she dismissed it. What she didn't ignore was Sahar's strange smile, and that he hummed a lullaby on their way to the house.

***

Lucifer was holding both of Sandalphon's hands as they stood silent and by themselves under the Garden's stone gazebo. They weren't sure where to put their hands, but it was comfortable to keep them sheathed one in another.

The angels were alone, deliciously alone, and at peace. If they had wanted to consume the burning passion, they could have on the table, on the chair, in a room, in the tall grass, under the Tree. Nobody would have stopped them.

There was no sheath, and there was no sword, only two pairs of hands, damp and warm and inseparable and nervous. Lucifer wasn't sure what he should do, and he looked down into those other eyes who knew what to do and looked back at him, still the same as hesitant.

"Shall I step on you?" Lucifer asked Sandalphon, who giggled, shaking his head.

Sandalphon's lips parted in a silent plea for a kiss after each kiss. Lucifer couldn't stop, and they became restless, and their bodies hot, and their legs tangling, and Sandalphon gasped for air and gasped because there was too much air between them. Their movements became erratic, violent, confused. Sandalphon knocked a cup over, and it crashed on the ground. Shalem hadn't touched her coffee.

They looked at the black stain spreading on the white cobblestone, and the broken porcelain. Lucifer had torn a piece of Sandalphon's toga out, and it hung at the Cupid's side. There were red marks on his neck, and something strange and cold glimmered in his red eyes.

"I'm sorry!" Lucifer said, the marks already disappearing. "I don't know what got over me!"

As if the spell had broken, Sandalphon stood on his legs rather than straddled Lucifer's hips, and he licked the bleeding bottom lip he'd accidentally bit.

"We need to find a way…" he mumbled after taking a few deep breaths, "To control ourselves and that spell."

"What should we do then? I don't know where to start," Lucifer said, and a sideways grin spread on Sandalphon's face.

Nobody knew better than a Cupid about how to handle such a curse. He set both his hands onto the Arch Seraph's feverishly hot face and shook his head. Neither of them was sure what would be best, only that it felt good to be this close, and they wanted more, but more in such a hurry would hurt them both.

"Let me ride us through this," Sandalphon said, determined, and Lucifer shuddered in anticipation and at how deep his voice was.

"D-do, you know how?" Lucifer asked.

Sandalphon's eyes narrowed, and he whetted his lips. "I might," he said.

With firm conviction, he led Lucifer towards the thermae. They walked hand in hand, silent as if they were following a procession, trying to ignore the feeling that their time couldn't be at any other moment. The burn, the anxiety, the human survival instincts were not part of a pair of angels. They had an eternity to sort their feelings and needs out but still felt like something was threatening their happiness.

Sandalphon stopped at a footbath and dipped his feet into the water. Lucifer gazed at it, the skin beautiful, and soft, and glowing like a Seraph's in Lucifer's eyes. Sandalphon stretched a trembling long, sexy leg and said, "W-wash them for me, please."

Lucifer stuttered but obeyed immediately. He understood a part of Sandalphon's intention when he started washing them, rubbing the sole and the ankle. His hands were itching to go higher, to massage the calf, to put his lips onto his knees. His eyes were going in the wrong direction, hoping for a glance between his blessed thighs.

The long toga was a bit wet, slipping down temptation. Sandalphon ran a finger through his wavy hair, keeping his gaze on the beast drooling at his feet. A small slap on the hand and Lucifer grunted, unhappy with himself as it had crawled up. "R-resist," Sandalphon stuttered.

Lucifer was squirming, his mouth and throat dry. "It's burning, Sandalphon," he said.

"How?"

"My throat is parched, and I feel like my hips are on fire."

An Angel's hips couldn't be on fire unless he fell, and Lucifer hadn't fallen into anything else than into passionate love. It was an illusion, but he had trouble believing it was one. Those base instincts and that primitive nature were purely human, like the targets meant for those arrows.

Sandalphon lifted his foot, still holding their gaze steadily. "Drink then, from my toes, and don't touch my leg."

"Yes!" Lucifer cried, delighted, his tongue stretching against his sense of pride, his heart jumping in the case of his chest, on his knees, and wet up the forearms. He'd have crawled in the water and drowned himself if Sandalphon had asked him to.

When he sucked them and drank the water from them, an odd satisfaction stopped his shivering, and the heat felt less intense. He'd managed not to touch the legs. He kept lapping between the toes like an animal.

"Is it still burning?" Sandalphon asked, his chest heaving. He was disheveled, and his eyes glassy, and Lucifer's hands twitched.

"Less," he said.

"Good. Rub my ankles again."

Praised be the Lord!

And they went on that way, Lucifer enjoying each delicious little rebuttal and progress until Sandalphon was sitting on his lap, beaming and also proud of himself. The fire was still the same, there and roaring, but they weren't in a hurry anymore.

"How did you know that would work?" Lucifer asked, their faces close.

All of Sandalphon's composure had fallen, and he was an embarrassed, shaking mess, mumbling apologies to the Almighty. Lucifer would have refused any excuse, delighted as he was. Those pouty lips and red cheeks were a treat after how assertive he'd acted earlier.

Sandalphon breathed, his thoughts hanging in the air with his embarrassment, "I followed my instincts! If you can't step on me without losing your mind, well, I can step on you!"

Lucifer burst into laughter, putting his head into Sandalphon's shoulder. He was right, but it sounded so funny for an angel, even that one, to speak that way, it sent him into a fit. Sandalphon grumbled with a smile, stroking his head.

His healing wings shuddered as Lucifer tenderly drew circles in his back, transferring all of the ether he could share without his knees buckling. Sandalphon refused, returning all of it in their longer kisses, and then kissing his cheek. Lucifer was about to protest, but the kiss on his forehead shut his mind down.

Sandalphon could use him like a puppet on a string, ask for whatever he wanted, he'd give it. He'd give him the skies if he demanded. Be it to crawl on his knees, begging for more water from his feet once more, he'd done it without a second thought.

"We will be joking about having acted this scandalously… Unless you are willing to become my puppy right now," Sandalphon said, daringly. Nobody else talked to the Seraph that way.

"I wish I could be a puppy entirely satisfied with belly-rubs," Lucifer grinned, the tip of their noses rubbing together.

"Chastise me later for being shameless," The Cupid had pulled his tongue out playfully.

Lucifer licked the tip of his tongue and grinned as Sandalphon shuddered and sighed. "I'll chastise you however you want me to when we're free. I don't want to be the only thirsty one," he said, his fingers dancing in the small of Sandalphon's back.

"Have you always been such a tease?" Sandalphon asked, sincere concern breaking through the spell.

He wasn't ever before, but those marvelous thighs on his lap were awakening a beast he kept holding on a leash. The Almighty wasn't watching them flirt, or kiss, or cuddle. They could have played any naughty game in complete universal indifference. God was ignoring them or wasn't there anymore, and Arbiter lying to her army.

Sandalphon happily cooed and leaned against Lucifer's body, and the muscles of his chest squeezed under the dipping fabric of his toga. With delicate ministrations and lighthearted flirtations, he tamed and soothed the beast. As much as Lucifer hated thinking Sahar had taught the Cupid such play, they might have made a terrible mistake without.

Lucifer wanted to bite the fruit, taste its juices, and he could have, but he didn't. Sandalphon kept leading his hands and eyes, and ears, and thoughts. Lucifer was a puppy whining for a little treat, and he received just as much as Sandalphon gave him. It was a game of self-control, each successful round, and step a win for both of them.

The afternoon sun behind him, Sandalphon blinked slowly, cat-like and yawned. "Mmmh, I'm so sleepy," he said, stretching while Lucifer mouthed at his sternum over his toga.

"You must be lacking ether because of your wings," Lucifer said, feeling the stretch of his ribcage, and a fold of Sandalphon's breast. He respectfully withdrew his hand, tingling to find the softest spot.

Sandalphon hummed, setting his head onto Lucifer's shoulder. "I think," he drawled, "I need a little nap."

He was too exhausted to move, and Lucifer carried him to settle under a tree, over smooth moss, holding Sandalphon against his chest. His solace nuzzled against his neck, and he was the happiest man on earth.

"Would you," Sandalphon almost whispered, "show me the world someday?"

"Yes. I'll show you the sea. It is gigantic, blue, and its color changes with the sky," Lucifer replied, softly stroking his head.

"Tell me more," Sandalphon yawned.

"There are beaches, places with wide banks of white and fine sand, where children pick up seashells, and people swim. Some of the seashells glow like gemstones when you look inside, others have tiny living creatures."

Sandalphon hummed, lazily blinking his eyes. Maybe he'd never seen so much sand in his life, or palm trees, or tropical fish for that matter. Lucifer was going to take him away from this cage, see him spread his brown wings, as full and healthy as the first day they met. He wanted to see a smile on that face, without the anxiety of loneliness and confinement.

He'd closed his eyes, trying to imagine, and fallen asleep. Listening to the peaceful hum of the Garden and Sandalphon's slow breaths, Lucifer fell asleep as well. He was going to protect that little Cupid forever, live with him forever. He loved Sandalphon.

Lucifer woke up with a start, an unbearable feeling overwhelming him as if a part of his heart or soul had been torn off. Nobody was lying next to him, the Cupid's warmth long gone. At Sandalphon's place, a letter sealed delicately by the Speaker.

The Garden was empty, and the gate wide open.

***

Sahar walked through opaline corridors, carrying an unconscious Sandalphon. His head with his wavy hair and long bangs hung back, swaying with every step. Sahar gazed at him lovingly. His beloved wore green robes, brown stockings on his legs under a diaphanous gown, and an archer's chest-plate on his right side. Sahar had put him into his most beautiful attire for his new beginning.

He gazed at the stars twinkling around them through the tall glass windows. The planets were nearby, Venus, Mars, Pluto, all of them quiet. The Creation Gods were sleeping, waiting for the Rapture to awaken, and witness the creation of a new world. Slumber stretched eternity, a second in life a thousand years in a dream.

They were at the highest tip of the tower, closest to the Almighty. Sahar tried listening one last time but only heard solemn, grievous silence. Sandalphon was the same as mute, his lips purple, and his chest unmoving. His sleep was the deepest an immortal could reach.

The Speaker stepped on a platform, where a tombstone lay open. He tucked Sandalphon in the golden thread of the sacred burial sheets and admired his beauty for a while. Nobody was ever going to be able to break the seals of the tomb. Only the Almighty, a Singularity, or himself could open it, not even Arbiter Mortis or Shalem.

Genius, Sahar was. If nobody could put their hands on the Blue Flame, everyone was safe. Wars were inevitable in case Satan spread the word his existence wasn't just a legend and his power real. The devil had more interest in causing misery than destroying the world. People were going to fight to seize Sandalphon, but reaching Etemenanki was close to impossible.

Shalem had shouted and cried, refused to understand Sahar's arguments. He'd thrown her down to earth. Some time-out was going to allow her to see things differently. That fool could stay with that adventurer she liked so much, for the limited time that mortal was going to live. Maybe knowing the value of a single life, she could understand the importance of a universe.

"There, my love, you can rest and never suffer from loneliness or heartache again."

He kept kneeling there for a while, playing with the thick locks of Sandalphon's hair. The Cupid was so lucky to never have known how strict and boring Heaven could be, or a miserable life on earth, or the unbearable pain of a Fallen Angel. Nobody was ever going to call him a Nephilim or mistreat him the way they did Nahash, Belial, and Samael. He wasn't going to see people fighting for his power either, or know how many deaths, how much grief his life was worth.

This new home was limitless in distances or possibilities, a conscious dream he could shape at his will, and truly meet Lucifer or Sahar. He was going to become a collective dream that humans could look up to and worship. Even the ego of those wishing for his power could find satisfaction in being the chosen ones for his messages. The sacrifice of his physical freedom was only a small cost to avoid the Rapture, no matter if anyone agreed or not.

The Almighty ought to be thankful Sahar sacrificed his feelings for his little Cupid for the greater good. He, too, was going to be deprived of his physical presence.

Sahar felt the smile on his lips grow, but no excitement fluttered in his empty, empty chest. "You can be anyone, anything in your dreamscapes. Lucifer will dream of you as long as his heart yearns for you, and nothing will be forbidden. Create your own Garden and friends and family, dear, and come to me whenever you need me."

The Speaker kissed Sandalphon's cold, indifferent lips one last time before sealing the stone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yandere Sahar is scary.
> 
> :') As the writer, I can assure you I suffer with the characters. The last arc begins.


	13. II THE FALL

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for choking kink. Samael/Egrigori, a tiny bit more patience for the main plz :3 
> 
> Art at the bottom by me. Original link: https://twitter.com/NANO74546347/status/1264513121923862528

No regular Angel knew about Pandemonium and wouldn't have expected such a Hell on Heaven. It had no legal or official status. Samael, born from an untouchable cast, repeat criminal, and escapee knew it well. This dungeon was for terrorists, the forgotten and abandoned by God. When she heard the name "Lucifer" ushered by the guards, she wondered if she was hallucinating.

Egrigori, who hadn't moved since the tormentors last visited, stirred and craned his neck, peering at the galley. There was a faint glint of disbelief in his eyes, rather than the usual boredom and emptiness. Once more, she heard the murmur of Lucifer's name and saw guards hurrying up and down the galley.

The fallen Seraph waved towards the bars insistently but without energy, his hand hanging limp on his arm. Courteous as Samael was, she dragged him and the filthy sheet he laid on closer to the bars for a better view.

"You're too light," she remarked.

He blinked slowly and didn't reply. The iron branding on his throat still hadn't healed. They'd clipped parts of his six wings, interrupting the flow of dark power in his veins, allowing him to regenerate quickly. They hung like dead feathery protrusions on his back. Samael pushed him into a seating position with her tail and hissed.

Samael's entire body hurt, snake and human battered to the bone by repeat torture. Even so, nothing was worse than the searing pain of the Fallen's curse. Tormentors could break her bones, twist her spine, pick her last eye out, burn her with spells until she was shrieking, but her wrath only deepened. As long as her desire for vengeance burned in the pit of her stomach, they couldn't break her resolve. Lucifer, as they knew him in the same place and treated as bad as them, was simply unimaginable.

Inmates started shouting obscenities, others booing, howling, hollering, screaming, chirping, croaking. It was a zoo, and Samael occupied the snake tank, her slit tongue licking her lips nervously as she leaned against the gate. They still tasted faintly of blood and the iron bit they'd put in when her screaming tired them.

There they came, heaving and pulling, slowly down the filthy dark galley. Three guards dragged the former Seraph behind them with the same reverence as for a sack of shit. Only the one in the rear held the last set of wings up to make it easier for his comrades to carry the heavy load. They had disarmed him, leaving only his black undergarments in a drag of shame he couldn't even notice. Samael bounced in place.

"Egrigori! Egrigori!" she cried, feeling heat flush through her icy veins, "Do you see the same as me?! Do you?!" She couldn't trust herself anymore, neither eyes nor ears, but she could trust his.

"Why?" Egrigori whispered, his voice raspy.

"What do you mean by why? I did it! The splinters of that cupid arrow must have driven him insane!" she said, feeling a vague satisfaction at having drawn a word out of Egrigori's mouth, and an even stronger one at congratulating herself.

He chuckled as if she'd said something funny, and fell into a barking coughing fit, holding to her long trunk to not slip. There was not much muscle left on his bones, but Samael had seen worse in Purgatory. His shoulder blades stuck out like fins. He couldn't die faster than any of them, but he was sometimes useful. His death would have been annoying.

"Yoohoo, Lucyyy!" Mammon still had energy, probably from having devoured her weaker cellmates one after another. "Who's gonna be the lucky one to eat you? Is it me? Is it meee?" She shrieked in laughter.

Mammon's cell was golden. A purely aesthetic transformation which didn't affect the seals which contained the Demons. She'd have devoured the entire prison if she could, and would lament for hours and hours, the Glutton never shutting up about how hungry she was. First, she wanted apples, then cake, to fuck, some steak, gold, blah blah blah. Her desire to live was astonishing.

Samael jittered in excitement when they threw the Arch Seraph in her neighboring cell. They treated him no better than the others, no favoritism, even while he still wore six white wings. She could see his form glowing in the darkness between several layers of iron lattices. What a blessing! She could try to kill him on her way out when the time was right.

"Lu-Lucifer?!" a familiar feminine voice Samael couldn't name squeaked.

The demoness, on the other side, whispered something panicky, kneeling at his side. In Lucifer's light, her hair glowed red, and her rags almost golden. Did that succubus care for one of their worst enemies? Maybe she'd gone mad like Mammon. Some rummaging later, and the prison fell silent again, only a few excited whispers hanging in the air. The woman put one of her raggedy sheets over Lucifer, only his white hair still visible. He remained unconscious, and his inertia bored Samael after a while.

She crawled back to Egrigori, who was lying on his back, looking at the ceiling as unblinking as a corpse. She poked him with the end of her tail, the serpent's nose. He didn't react. This wasn't the time to sleep or die! Something unimaginable was happening outside. Given Lucifer's incarceration, it could have been a civil war, a general rebellion, maybe even the blue flame had something to do with his presence. That, and imagining the possibilities had aroused her so much, she felt like tormenting someone.

Egrigori's face was pretty, the soft and boyish one of a Seraph, only a few tension wrinkles visible and dark circles under his eyes and pasty white skin. Before he fell, Samael remembered its healthy pink glow and the intelligent glimmer in his eyes. He was kind and charming to everyone in appearance, a popular Seraph even on Earth. His victims knew otherwise.

Long ago, Samael admired Seraphs and would have fallen at the Depraved One's feet if he had courted her like he'd seduced, used, abused, and abandoned legions of admirers. Egrigori had left a trail of Fallen Angels, Nephilim, and broken lives behind him. Lord Satan welcomed him with opened arms and made him a Prince in the House of Luxury for the damage he'd caused in Heaven.

Samael didn't give a damn about his Seraphic or Demonic status – it was a matter of the past. All she knew was it felt good to sit on his face, and he never complained about it. His looks and title had no importance in this dungeon, and except sex, his competences were lost at that moment. Good thing, Samael was there to make him useful. She signaled her intention by putting her hand onto the right place.

"Sammy," he wheezed.

"Stop pretending to be dead!" she hissed. "We're fucking."

"I'm dying."

"Then I'll fuck your corpse," she scoffed, the knot binding his sash resisting her urgent tugs.

"I'm horny too! I wanna eat pussy!" Mammon squealed.

Samael put her hand to her mouth, and a wry smile curved on a corner of Egrigori's lips. Had she been that loud in stating her desire?

"Is my eye dripping again or something?" she grumbled, letting go of his sash and putting her hand on top of the hole that once contained her second eye.

"Can't move enough," he replied, honestly, "Can you?"

They were both worn out, completely worn out. The only thing Samael could seriously imagine herself doing was to smoke the Demon's Orchid. A lot of the drug circulated between the cells, between small gaps. It was unofficially tolerated to keep a semblance of order inside of the prison, reducing a few addicted inmates into harmless zombies.

It wasn't the sophisticated variety from Lord Satan's court, the one who tenderly disinhibited the smoker and brought them to dance. It wasn't the one which sent sweet little rushes of heat, courteously inviting them for debauchery and erotic daydreams. While the noble one was an elegant Orchid, the one in that prison was no more than an ugly unwanted weed. The fumes hit straight into the head and made everything blurry and comical or more bearable.

"Is it Celebration Day?" Samael called into the galley.

An approving grunt rumbled from somewhere, and she knew she could get a thick cigar. This was a special day. The entire floor was going to smell like a dirt-cheap version of the Harem's boudoir. Hopefully, nobody would slip and cause a ruckus.

The pain of the curse flashed, searing, and Samael swore, bucking over Egrigori and almost falling onto him at the sudden flare. He lifted his eyebrows. Empathy wasn't a thing for the Depraved One, but he knew exactly how it felt and thought of himself, of how he managed the pain and wouldn't want her crushing him with all of her weight.

The cigar came sooner than expected, rolling from cell to cell. It was thick, brown, and filthy with dust. Egrigori stirred as she lit it with a snap of her fingers, and lifted his head, his purple lips parted and quivering. Only a raspy breath came out of his throat. Maybe he was really close to disappearing, and that would have been troublesome. His pretty mouth was begging for some, and Samael hated sharing.

She put the cigar against his lips, and he sucked it, little puffs of smoke escaping his mouth. He sighed in relief and slowly rolled his head from side to side. Samael laid down next to him, sometimes taking a huff, and offering him another. He'd turned to face her, and stared right back at her blankly with his doll face. Warmth had quickly returned to her body. It was kicking in, and she giggled, puffing a cloud at his face.

Even as a former Seraph, this man was tolerable, as twisted and broken as all of them. He'd also killed Nahash, and while Samael never developed a sense of gratitude or owing someone for keeping their promises, that made him into someone she mildly respected.

Samael was softly prodding at his lower lip and only realized it maybe seconds, maybe minutes later. Her scaly skin twitched, noticing he'd set his arm over her hip, perhaps for balance, probably because he was high. They were both blowing smoke into another's mouths, still sharing the cigar wet with their spit.

He didn't look like Belial. If anyone, he looked a bit like Lucifer, his face rounder and small nose mischievous. The smoke that came out of his nostrils sent butterflies into her stomach. It was a vulgar, cheap thrill to mate with someone and to draw pleasure from the flesh she once feared, to quiver from that cold gaze. He never looked away, and his puff of smoke kissed her empty eyelid.

The only one who'd ever tenderly kissed her, and the only one she'd known with such empty wells for pupils before Egrigori was Belial. His smile never reached his eyes, their sides never crinkled. Whatever he said or did, his gaze remained equal and unperturbed. The only time they lit up was talking of his Messiah.

Eve's hatred and anger against Sahar grew with their knowledge and intelligence, with science and their desire for freedom, annihilated by a man who believed only in God. Belial was infatuated with their hatred of the world and people. He called them exciting compared to the boring Speaker of Dawn.

They acted like they hated Belial, even publicly shaming and beating him, but he assured Samael it was an act of love. It was their way to play. She didn't quite understand how or why, because the disgust on their face was chilling. They even kicked him after he returned wounded from a battle. Still, they gave him a white uniform and made him their deputy, the highest honor a Nephilim ever received.

Samael noticed she'd been talking, of what, she wasn't sure, but her tail had coiled around Egrigori's legs, and his arm was tight around her waist. They were chest to chest. He was humming as if he was listening, his eyes lidded. She put her hand on his throat to feel the vibration, but he stopped humming with the return of her attention. She flicked her snake tongue against the bottom of his chin.

With a grunt, Egrigori shifted his arm and settled his hand between her shoulder-blades. She took a deep, shivering breath of the roll, now further than half-finished, and tried looking away from his despicable face. His damp skin against her chest and that hand made her feel murderous. The entire cell, the whole floor was as cloudy as she'd expected it to be. Someone was coughing, maybe the neighbor sharing her cell with Lucifer. He was breathing slowly, as if asleep. 

Samael's head was slightly buzzing. The pain had subsided just a bit, and Egrigori's hand drawing circles in her back felt good. She flinched as the Seraph mouthed under her jaw. If he ducked his head, his face would have dropped into her breasts. It looked like he was struggling for more smoke. He kept mouthing like a carp asking for bits of bread.

"Tighter," Egrigori wheezed.

Samael realized she had coiled all around him and was squeezing him hard. His face was slightly pink and pearls of tears on the corners of his eyes. His soft ministrations had been an encouragement. Her burst of throaty laughter shook them both and the cell. What a fool!

She gave him a bit more of what he wanted. His face twisting and his eyes turning back was giving her an appetite. Each time he was close to fainting, she let go, and he'd cough and wheeze, the color returning to his blue lips, and he'd ask for more. Too bad she couldn't break his bones. Any other time, it wouldn't have killed him, and he'd been able to reciprocate. Crushing unresisting prey wasn't as fun.

"Feels good," he rasped, still too high to think before he talked, and she laughed even louder until she was so exhausted that she couldn't keep lying down or close her eyes anymore.

Egrigori was staring hungrily at her breasts. The Depraved One was that way – serious at work, a lusty and high bastard any other time. They were quite opulent for her skinny human half, as soft as any other, no scales on them, unlike a part of her face. If he were in good shape, she'd have helped him slowly faint while enjoying her breasts to the fullest.

They were Demons living promiscuously in a filthy, obscure, cold cage. It had nothing to do with love, only satisfying their primal needs. It was a special day, the day the Arch Seraph fell from grace, so details didn't matter as long as they brought pleasure.

Still, Samael couldn't help but wonder which injustice or misfortune had brought the pure and righteous Lucifer into the same dungeon as them. His wings were still white.

***

_A few months prior_

A line of women, all witches bound for the stake, were processing towards their doom, but none of them seemed worried.

One of the women had long ashen hair, stood tall and dignified. She looked at Lucifer with the greenest eyes he'd ever seen. Her lips were in a thin line, but her stare was insistent and heavy on his wings. He stopped marching to get her gaze off his back, feeling like she could put a spell on it.

As she overtook him, she suddenly smiled as if it were a pleasant stroll and said, "You doubt," as if she'd read right through him.

"Walk," he replied dryly.

Lord Michael, further back in convoy, had protested it shouldn't have been the duty of angels to handle a group of witches. The Holy Empire's requests were becoming more frivolous by the day. There might have been monsters or demons on the way, but to involve the Arch Seraph in person? He couldn't understand.

It had been that way a few years before he replaced Azazel, and Arbiter Mortis had stated those were true witches. Their leader was the most powerful Witch in Orleans. If she rebelled or had organized an escape, there better had been the Arch Seraph in person to stop her.

Lucifer inquired a human soldier about the ashen-haired woman's wrongdoings, and he replied, "You mean Magisa? She's been a malevolent witch for centuries here, disguised as a healer and changing her skin like a snake. Her poisonous concoctions have killed many, and she's at the head of this here congregation of heretics," he'd replied.

All of the women had some sort of singularity, and an energy Lucifer hadn't felt on any other witches he'd assisted in burning. Most of them were young, some of them even children. Maybe it was in their confident gait. Unlike what he usually witnessed, none of them fidgeted, or trembled, or avoided his gaze. An eerie calm floated over the procession. He decided to return to the woman.

He whispered as they walked, "Are you a witch?"

"Yes," she hummed.

"Have you killed many villagers?"

"Not a single soul," she replied with the same confidence, and he believed her.

"What is happening here?" Lucifer asked, his hands fidgeting on the handle of his blade.

He remembered Miguel, the boy he'd killed before the mysterious knight could stop him. Only once that Miguel was dead, once Sahar had told him the Almighty wasn't talking to the Speakers anymore, did he understand Arbiter Mortis had been lying to them for years. Maybe Azazel had realized before him and wanted to consult her about his doubts. He needed concrete proof against her and find out her true intentions, for Sandalphon's and Azazel's sake.

"Politics," Magisa replied, echoing some of Lucifer's suspicions. "I have too much influence in this Kingdom, and the Holy Empire's church is unhappy about that. This village is Precursorian, and they are trying to convert my people to worship your masters."

Precursorians worshipped ancient gods and spirits of nature. Even though the Holy Empire praised the Speakers most, Angels were supposed to protect whoever asked for their help. While Precursorians didn't pray to the Almighty, the Precursors they worshipped were no the less worthy and real Gods.

"Do you worship Satan?" he asked, and Magisa giggled at the interrogatory, but smiled as if she had expected such a question.

"Mother worships Lilith," she replied, used to that type of question.

"I don't know of a God with such a name."

Magisa pursed her lips and looked away. Lucifer could have sworn shoulders in the procession were jittering in laughter. "They will rise after the Rapture," she said.

"Are you saying there is supposed to be something after the Rapture?" he asked, trying to not attract any attention beyond them. Those witches who could hear him kept silent but listened. They knew something he didn't, and it seemed to be funny.

"Mother told us it depends on which direction the Cataclysmic Angel will shoot his flaming blue arrow. It's a prophecy, so even if I told it to you word by word, the final outcome would remain unclear to both of us."

She'd caught his attention. He knew the Angel who held the blue flame, and his arrow had hit Lucifer, putting splinters deep into his flesh. If their love was a cataclysm, the Rapture might have already begun. People always expected something apocalyptic and spectacular, not a slow, progressive deterioration due to a series of unfortunate events.

Once this mission was over, like every other night, he was going to go to sleep. Sandalphon was going to preach to the believers as a Speaker, and perhaps they'd have some time on their own to go to the beach. Sandalphon said that reality was only a concept someone could bend at his will, and that was precisely what Sahar was doing in his everyday life.

The sensations, the pleasure they felt in each other's company, hardly felt like a dream. The dreamscape allowed for heightened senses, but strangely, coffee never tasted the same. Lucifer had felt grass and the sand at his feet, Sandalphon's warm skin and soft hair under his palm. Upon awaking, Lucifer was starving for the Cupid's warmth at his side, willing to sleep again, forever if possible.

What strength of mind had it required of him to not stir the Heavens when the tear of their separation made him lose faith in the Almighty? He felt like he was missing half of himself, searching, somewhere, anywhere, for a scent or sensation reminiscent of his Cupid's physical form. The spell was a curse, but the brief solace he found in the night stopped him from falling apart.

As heavenly as their time was, Lucifer couldn't allow himself to sleep forever. Arbiter Mortis deserved a trial and punishment, and he had to find a way to free Sandalphon. Going against two Speakers meant rebellion, but he didn't fear for his wings; only the Almighty or his own heart could turn them black, and neither of the two remained.

A Black Witch was standing in front of him, reading him like an open book and telling him there might be hope, that he might be able to save Sandalphon.

Lucifer was tempted, terribly tempted to save her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, thank you for reading! At long last, your loyal fic writer will be able to write dream-smut and go a bit crazy, so look forward to it! We're at the second part, and it's going to be a short, naughty arc (before it becomes angsty again hehe). Yay, and yes, Mommy Magisa's going to have an important role. If ever there's something worth a warning, I'll make sure to add it. The closer we get to the "BEAST" universe, the kinkier it gets.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings apply. Even though it's in big part metaphorical, it could be triggering.

"I can't quite remember…" Sandalphon said, looking down at the cup he held, "if my coffee tasted this way. It's hard to imagine tastes."

He and Lucifer were sitting under the Garden's stone gazebo. There were times Lucifer's consciousness drifted and wasn't quite sure of what to take for real anymore. It was better to not overthink or to try to make sense of everything in a dreamscape. The scenery changed with the desires, fears, and subconscious of its creator. Lucifer so understood Sandalphon sometimes wanted to forget none of their reunions were real, and nor did he.

"Can I try remembering for you? I made some recently, but I'm afraid it won't taste as good as yours," Lucifer offered.

Lucifer didn't know everything about how the dreamscape functioned, but when one couldn't imagine, the other could try in his place. He'd built landscapes for his Cupid to admire, a beach to walk on, a market to visit, the Silver City. Once Lucifer awakened, he always had the feeling he'd forgotten details or realized he'd imagined it wrong upon inspection. Memories were fickle, magnified, or lessened. For example, the beautiful rose garden close to the city's museum had appeared grey in the dreamscape.

As if Sandalphon could read his mind, he'd asked, "Were you lonely?" He was right, but Lucifer was unable to put that emotion into words. Lucifer missed him.

Sandalphon had warned Lucifer about triggers. Their mingling minds, their lives, their perceptions sometimes showed up in the form of symbols or images and passed like waves they had to ride together. When it was over, they could return to the conscious dreaming and continue acting as if it were a dream in the dream.

The Arch Seraph only ever became upset when his memories invaded their space and showed something unpleasant. That way, the Cupid had found out about Lucifer's crimes. He knew the man he loved had killed innocents, that he doubted in the Almighty's existence and that Arbiter had begun frightening him. She showed up in the form of a giant white spider crawling out of the bathroom.

Lucifer tried to keep his heart shut, panicked, tumbled down into somewhere dark and frightening, but Sandalphon said;

"I only recently understood why the world works with certain rules, and why some people must act a part to keep in harmony with others. Here's the safest place for unleashing chaos, so don't be afraid. I won't judge you."

"But I want peace harmony when I'm with you, not the chaos going on outside!"

"I am relieved," Sandalphon said, "that you aren't perfect and have your own demons. Sahar is frightening because there's nothing, just a blank canvas he paints as he pleases."

"But it's embarrassing. I'm spoiling our precious time together."

Sandalphon, shining Cupid with a sunny smile, replied, "No time is ever lost with you, and your heart is golden."

He couldn't understand Sandalphon's reasoning, but it felt warm deep down. Still, something threatening was lurking in the house's basement; its door was always tightly locked. The energy around it coiled like a snake around Lucifer's chest until Sandalphon pulled him away, telling him to ignore that childish nightmare.

No place in a dreamscape was entirely safe, but the gazebo had never triggered a nightmare.

"You still have some practicing to do if this is really what your coffee tastes like, Lord Lucifer," Sandalphon said, sipping his coffee.

"Calling me _Lord_ doesn't make what you say any less cheeky."

Sandalphon shrugged, "No rules here, my Lord. I could call you darling—"

The coffee went down Lucifer's throat the wrong way, and that coughing fit felt very real.

"Daaarliiiing~" Sandalphon chirped, coming to pat Lucifer's back, but Lucifer caught his wrist and pulled the cheeky Cupid onto his lap.

"No rules?" he hummed. Sandalphon stiffened, and his face went red. "Call me, darling again?" Lucifer asked, and Sandalphon stuttered, terribly cute. "Where has your confidence gone, sweetheart?"

"I-I was just saying nonsense! Please, Lord Lucifer, s-spare me!"

No, Lucifer wasn't going to spare him anymore. He had a terrible urge to see more of that side of Sandalphon.

"You told me to unleash chaos, love. Do you know what I'd have to do if you were part of my army?" Lucifer whispered into Sandalphon's ear.

The little Cupid was trembling, flushed, and leaning into him. At last, that shameless façade had fallen, and Lucifer felt the power slightly go up to his head.

"Come on, repeat darling," Lucifer caressed the back Sandalphon's neck. The Cupid's head tilted to the side, offering him his throat.

"D-daah…" was all Sandalphon could reply.

He wasn't used one bit to Lucifer fighting back, and it felt fresh to the Arch Seraph. Empowered by that reaction, Lucifer continued. "I'd have to look upset, and take a big voice, even though I absolutely love you calling me darling."

"A-and then?" Sandalphon asked, leaning closer to Lucifer's face.

"I'd have to tell you such behavior is unacceptable in our ranks, while I'd want to hear you say it every day. That's necessary hypocrisy; we call it etiquette."

"It is?"

"It is. Then, because there are always people around me, I'd have to take you somewhere else, saying we needed a word aaaand…"

"Aaand?"

Sandalphon's lips were slightly parted, and Lucifer was tempted to touch them. They looked soft and glossy and must feel good to suck. Realizing what unholy things he'd started imagining, Lucifer shook his head, but it wasn't much use in a dream. His hand was already on Sandalphon's hot face.

"I guess… We could hold hands going there?"

Sandalphon's eyes widened, and he started laughing. He meant it honestly; holding hands was already frowned upon when a Seraph did it! Why was the Cupid now mocking him, giggling and hugging him tight?

"Lucifer, oh, Lucifer!" Tears had shaped on the corners of Sandalphon's laughing eyes, and Lucifer kissed them off. They didn't taste like real tears, or like anything, but it might have meant something in this dream. Lucifer held his beloved tighter, wishing he could feel his weight more, the heat to not feel distant and artificial. He wanted to feel him more than a Seraph ever should. What he desired was terrible.

"Could we kiss there too?" Sandalphon asked, running a hand in Lucifer's white hair, "Where nobody can see?"

Lucifer felt hot in the face and very much wanted to reply he would even if they shouldn't, but that was against the law. Sandalphon puckered his lips as he received no answer.

"We're in a dream. You could let me imagine things, and that we can do whatever we want," the Cupid said, not hesitating to touch Lucifer's lips.

"If that's what you wish to do, let's try imagining something," Lucifer said, and Sandalphon nodded, still a bit pouty.

At once, they were inside the temple. Lucifer had imagined a small reunion of the army, angels assembled in the main hall, and them standing at the center, the light of the stained glass falling on them. Sandalphon looked around and fumbled with his fingers.

"I-it's impressive," he said, the figurants, the avatars of people still unmoving and unreal.

"We can still go back to the Garden," Lucifer said, taking center stage.

His real intention was to give the Cupid a harmless experience on how it was to break the rules in Heaven. He was aware of the Arch Seraph's position and standing but couldn't imagine what effect it had on the public.

"It's all fake, so I guess I'll be alright," Sandalphon replied.

"Alright, so, let me think…"

Sandalphon bit his lip, and something strange tingled through Lucifer's body. Whispers had arisen, and the avatars had started moving, looking at the Cupid. Lucifer feared they'd slip into a nightmare, but something he couldn't understand pushed him to continue. He needed an idea for their conflict.

"You've been eating the altar's offerings again," Lucifer said, and Sandalphon face-palmed and laughed.

"Of all the things I could have done!"

"You stole apples," Lucifer tried acting severe, but it was hard.

"A-apples?" Sandalphon asked, the smile disappearing from his face.

Something changed in the lighting, but Lucifer didn't pay as much attention to it as a distant tune that had started playing. Had Sandalphon ever heard the music of pipe organs before? That melody sounded familiar, an ancient prayer to the Almighty, but something was off.

"Yes. You stole apples."

"You stole more than apples," Sandalphon replied, and Lucifer stumbled, the whispers of shock becoming louder.

"What did you say?"

"You stole more than apples, my love," Sandalphon repeated between his teeth. Everyone gasped. They'd have caused a scandal in the temple with such words, Lucifer felt dizzy and elated at the same time. It was inconsequential, and he wanted everyone, the entire congregation to hear his Cupid calling him that way.

Sandalphon was looking at him straight into the eyes, daring him to continue. That inexplicable heat shot through Lucifer again. That sort of rebellion was unlike anything he ever experienced.

"I'll show you an apple," Sandalphon said, and an apple had appeared in his hand, and its red made something stir in Lucifer's stomach. A symbol had appeared. It cracked under the Cupid's teeth, and electricity shot down the Arch Seraph's spine. He slurped as the juice ran down his lips. Lucifer felt weak in the legs.

Sandalphon reached out for Lucifer, the unbitten side of the apple in his hand, offering to taste. Lucifer realized something was different about Sandalphon's gaze, and a worm was crawling out of the apple. As Lucifer hesitated, the Cupid kept eating the rotten fruit, the parasite on his face, and the juices red like blood.

Sandalphon licked his lips, and the congregation around them had become shadows. "It's the seed, it's in the seed," some of the shadows whispered.

"Eat it!" Sandalphon shouted, "Take everything or nothing, eat my seed!"

Lucifer ate the apple from Sandalphon's hand, biting full-heartedly into the bitter fruit. He didn't care it looked disgusting, and he didn't care about the worms squirming. Its juices were covering his face, sticky and sweet. Arousal was rushing through his body, and he kept licking the white goop from Sandalphon's fingers, the same stains on the Cupid's face.

Sandalphon had a hood covering his head, wearing a torn green sash and an armor. He seemed ready for battle, whatever he was fighting. Lucifer could see the shape of his legs for the first time, not covered by a toga or a long robe. He growled, fangs growing in his mouth.

"I'm rotten," Sandalphon said, and a sickly-sweet scent of rotting apples came from between his legs, juices trickling down his stockings. Lucifer licked his calves, and it tasted like cider. Something he couldn't quite discern flashed before his eyes and pain suddenly stung at his chest. He'd seen something awful, but couldn't remember what.

"I'm rotten," Sandalphon repeated, and Lucifer was sucking his inner thigh, unable to stop. Lucifer was becoming a beast with sharp teeth biting at his legs, and loving the sensation of imaginary muscle soft like rice cakes squeezing in his mouth.

Lucifer couldn't stop. He was sucking between Sandalphon's legs, as soft as his thighs. He groaned in pleasure, a dragon's tongue licking deep into a hole. He wanted it inside of him, whatever it was, but it could only go down his throat. The frustration was terrible.

"Sahar, stop," Sandalphon cried, but Lucifer kept rocking his hips into the sensation, into the pressure clamming around something he didn't know but wanted to know. He was as much the victim as the beast. The hard and hot thing kept thrusting into his mouth. It was sickening, but he wanted more of that thing, hitting at the bottom of his throat.

Someone whispered, "I love you," but it sounded like a terrible lie. Lucifer wanted to cry.

In and out, in and out, it squeezed, it was wet, it tickled, it burned, it was painful. "Please, Sahar, stop! We are not equal!"

Lucifer growled, desperate, wanting to feel him deeper, devour him.

"Lucifer help!" Sandalphon cried, and that brought the Seraph back to his senses.

"I'm here, Sandalphon, I'm here! I'm so sorry!" Lucifer said, trying to hug Sandalphon, but he felt far away.

"You're all the same! You use me because I'm rotten. After all, I'm a Nephilim! You see me as nothing more than a Nephilim!"

"Sandalphon!" Lucifer shouted into the darkness, afraid Sandalphon might throw him out before he could even beg for forgiveness.

A hand was on his shoulder. Lucifer jumped his vision blurry, and his eyes wet. It felt as if ants were crawling down his spine from his buzzing head. He'd never been so scared in his life.

They were somewhere in a clearing of the Black Forest. Mistarcia was still several days walk, and they'd only completed half of their route. The women were on foot as a form of torture or to exhaust them, and it was an obligatory passage to get to the border.

The group of chained women sat around a fire, some of them sleeping, others sitting awake. Magisa was deep in thought, her face illuminated yellow by the light, her red eyes flickering with the flames. Michael and Lucifer sat on top of a mound that oversaw the small camp, human soldiers staying in their tents locked behind crosses and other deterrents for the local pests. The sky was clear that night, a blessing that allowed Lucifer to sleep.

"Lord Lucifer?" Archangel Michael seemed concerned, but that painful sensation was still boiling in Lucifer's blood, and the urge to scream was tying a knot in his throat. Sandalphon needed him. He couldn't deal with life's bullshit just then, couldn't deal with this Lieutenant, nor with the fact he shouldn't have slept on duty. He couldn't take it anymore!

"By which right are you touching me?" he asked, surprised by how hoarse his voice was as if he'd really taken something down. Had he been screaming?

"Oh, my apologies," Michael said, quickly letting go, "but I believe you should absolutely avoid sleeping in those witch's presence, Magisa in particular."

Bullshit. All a load of bullshit which cost lives and left Lucifer's beloved Cupid stuck alone in a terrible nightmare! Was Sahar still hurting him? What was Sahar doing to him, between his thighs? He felt like killing the Speaker of Dawn.

"Let me sleep," Lucifer hissed.

Michael was looking at him with round eyes. Maybe he was making a threatening expression, because he felt he'd bared his teeth, like the animal which had attacked Sandalphon. He closed his mouth, ashamed.

"Sir Lucifer, what is ailing you? It's unlike you to sleep during a mission."

Michael was ailing him. Why couldn't he just leave before the Arch Seraph broke that damned protocol and told him to fuck off? Adrenaline kept pumping in his veins, and he could still hear Sandalphon begging him to stop.

"A rare luxury we can enjoy, just like we can drink water," Lucifer replied. "Doesn't it feel wonderful to drink water on a hot day after a long walk?"

Michael considered and had to agree. Lucifer was too awake right now to fall back into sleep on command. Damned, be his responsibilities and that Lieutenant. Only a few minutes must have passed, but they couldn't afford that much distraction either. The responsible Arch Seraph was back.

"Lord Michael," he said, trying hard to erase the images from the nightmare from his head, "could you tell me something in entire honesty, without minding our positions?"

Lucifer didn't feel like engaging in a discussion, but he needed it off his chest.

"Do you have absolute faith that there are no politics implicated in this mission which could favor someone in our High Council?"

Michael sat down at his side.

"I have absolute faith in God," Michael replied dutifully, "but I don't have faith in human justice."

It was the flat type of answer Lucifer expected. There was nothing personal inside of it; all Angels had absolute faith in God but didn't trust human decisions.

"What would they have to gain to kill Magisa, if it weren't to serve our Lord?" Lucifer asked.

A small smile appeared on Michael's lips, and he cleared his throat. "One Great Witch less is one resistant less to the Holy Empire's influence," he replied, this time in full honesty. He understood what Lucifer wanted to get at. He wasn't blind either, but then, why was he allowing this to happen?

"We can judge what's right or wrong for ourselves, but we are servants of God, and if the Almighty tells us to support a Church and eliminate an evil witch, then it's our command. I shouldn't be telling this to the Arch Seraph, as drowsy as he might be."

But the Almighty wasn't there anymore. He'd left their dimension for another, and kept unresponsive even to his beloved Speaker of Dawn. Something grave had happened, and Arbiter Mortis kept covering it. She did have an interest in letting the Holy Empire's Church purge the entire continent; power.

It was about power and ruling all of the faiths of the world. If only one God kept existing in the popular belief, then Arbiter would have been at the head of the most powerful army in Heaven. Prayers gave angels their wings and Gods, their prestige. People used to pray Zeus, some saw King Solomon as a God, others prayed Shiva. Now it was all about the Almighty and his servants.

Michael wasn't going to help him. Maybe if Azazel had still been at his side, they could have arranged to somehow free those witches, or at least defend them and find proof together the accusations were false. Lucifer was unable to do anything on his own. He felt helpless, condemned to send another string of innocent victims to their deaths.

"I can't allow them to escape, but I can't stop my superior from talking with Magisa either," Michael said, nodding to himself. "You could go talk to her about that nightmare that made you call an angel's name, for instance," he said, a funny little glint in his eyes.

***

"Good evening, Lord Lucifer. I believe you have had a bad dream," Magisa said, a knowing smile on her face.

"How did you know?" Lucifer asked, taking the free space next to her.

"You almost woke up the soldiers crying Sandalphon's name." Some witches stifled their giggles.

Lucifer sighed, but then realized, "Why haven't they woken up?"

"A little sleeping potion. I was waiting for you, but I imagine your time with Sandalphon was nice."

"What is it you want from me?" Lucifer asked, wary since she had managed to knock the entire army out so quickly.

The humans relied too much on the Seraph's wakefulness and became careless, galvanized by Lucifer's presence. If he was around, nothing could harm them, not even the Great Witch. Luckily they could genuinely rely on the Archangel Michael, who never as much as blinked.

"I want to help you," she said, but he had trouble believing her good intentions were genuine.

In a different situation, he'd not have asked her how or engaged in conversation with a Black Witch. Still, he asked, expecting to soon discover the trap, "How and at what price?"

She giggled, "Oh, you are so tough with little old me!"

"You are still a suspect and a Witch," he replied dryly. She shrugged and leaned in to whisper.

"This mission is set up against you, and Arbiter will falsely accuse you of treason. I won't be able to reach your heart anymore, so listen to me carefully now and don't forget it;

You won't be able to shoulder everything of what's awaiting you on your own. Ask the Knight for help when you meet him again, and we'll save your Cupid together."

Lucifer noticed a funny detail, looking closer at the witch's face. Her eyes were red. "Magisa, weren't your eyes green?"

She grinned, and giggled "Oopsie…"

"Lord Lucifer, Lord Lucifer!" someone was shouting.

Lord Michael was shaking him, and Lucifer hadn't ever felt as groggy before, his body as heavy as under a spell.

"W-what happened?"

"What do you mean, what happened?!" Lord Michael was panicked, and the entire camp was in effervescence, soldiers running, a group passing them with horses.

"The witches fled! Lord Lucifer, it's unacceptable to sleep during a mission! I was relying on you while I was scouting the area!"

Lucifer understood Magisa's vision had been right. Arbiter must have known about the arrow splinters, known the spell made him incapable of staying away from Sandalphon and forced him to sleep a few minutes every day. Lord Michael suspected none of that because they had none of that conversation he'd dreamed about.

She'd trapped him before he'd gathered evidence against her.

***

"Gwaaaagh!" Lucifer howled, curled up on the floor, in one piece for the first time in hours, maybe days.

Time had lost its sense, seconds turned to hours, hours to weeks. How many times had he been torn into pieces? It wouldn't stop, and he wouldn't die even turned inside-out. He wanted out of this materialized body, the pain to end, to return on Sandalphon's side. This was a nightmare, un unbearable nightmare he'd never awaken from.

"Louder, Lucifer, let me hear you pray for our Lord!" Arbiter cackled, the insane Speaker destroying him again and again with her spells.

Lucifer opened his mouth to cry, but it tore apart like paper. His entire skin was cracked, dry and stiff like clay at the sun. Not even second of darkness, and it started again. She flung him around like a doll, breaking him against a dungeon wall, stepping on his leg as it turned to clay and broke, an eye melted in its orbit.

"You dare interfere with our Lord? Are you still going to talk back to me and tell me he isn't here, you traitor?!"

He couldn't talk, his tongue splitting in two. He was a stump, something like a snake wriggling pitifully at Arbiter's feet. The Speaker's look was insane, unhinged sadistic satisfaction. She was pure evil. Had Azazel gone through this as well? Was that why his skin had become so white, like paper? Was it bones she'd broken, again and again, sticking out of his head?

Soon, Lucifer became unable to reason or think about anything else than for it to stop. Sleep, he needed rest and to save Sandalphon from Sahar. Sahar was hurting him, and he couldn't do anything. That nightmare was haunting him in hallucinations. The world was torn to shreds, and all he could hear was screaming louder than he'd ever heard.

"Sorry, Sandal—" he wheezed and broke.

He wanted to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything happens quite suddenly. Honestly, I could have written 5 more chapters about how Arbiter framed Lucifer and developed his link with Magisa a bit more, but I didn't feel like writing down an extra subplot. The main focus of this story is LuciSan and Sandalphon dealing with Sahar and his power. We'll be getting back to the demons in the next chapters, and Lucifer's development. It will be the VoidLucifer arc :)


	15. Chapter 15

There was no end to the variety and intensities of pain. Lucifer's body felt like it could extend and shrink, its shape dictated by torture. Where he began and ended was only delimited by his aches, aware more than ever of his clipped wings. At moments, he felt like his skin could stretch into infinity. He couldn't tell up from down, or where his head or arms had gone.

When he sank into darkness, he felt an outline. The person hugging him from behind had consistency. They called his name, their voice buzzing in his painful skull. All Lucifer could remember was that he wanted to go where he was and to stay there forever.

His vision was broken into little pieces. He'd fallen into bits, and someone else's fragments had mixed up with him. A trunk laid over his, a hand touched his cheek, a pair of pink lips parted in front of his left eye. His body felt like a swarm of butterflies that Sandalphon was trying to hold together.

Lucifer wanted to be whole again and hug back, run his fingers between the locks of brown hair, feel the Cupid's soft lips against his. When they began kissing, they couldn't stop. He'd recognized his presence, the beat of his heart, his solace. Was this a dream, or had he reached the boundary near enough to death to join Sandalphon? The pain was gone.

All Lucifer could see were lovely little details, pieces of his lover, the shape of his pupil, the small creases in his lips, a dilated pore, a split brown hair which glowed faintly, golden dust rising in the Void. He loved every speck of his Cupid. The smallest detail delighted him.

His heart was beating between Sandalphon's hands, and it did only for him, whole only in his grasp. If he could keep holding Lucifer's heart against his bosom forever, Lucifer wouldn't have minded staying in pieces. He never wanted to return to that dark, painful place again, with that terrifying monster he'd once called his Master.

Let him worship a smaller being than the Almighty, a body with an outline, a complete piece made of love. Let him run his hands and lips all over his tender skin, breathe in the scent of garden flowers and solace. He missed the taste of his lips, not disgusted by kissing a severed head.

How could his Cupid have compared himself to a Nephilim? He was love incarnate, affection in the flesh. Nephilim were unwanted children, featherless, snake-like, cunning, and spiteful. They hated their creators by nature, knowing their parents had sinned for frivolous pleasure and never committed to them. Only the hand of the Almighty could have created someone so beautiful, and if that beauty was the fruit of sin, then Lucifer had fallen already long ago.

He'd fallen before horns had started growing on his head before his wings turned black before he lost faith in the Almighty, in humanity, in the world. As long as those hands held his heart, Sandalphon warm, nurturing, and kind, Lucifer kept his sanity. If he could keep his faith in one person, he didn't need the Almighty.

Then a tug, back into the light or rather a tear. Lucifer dug his claws, weakly scraping the dirty stone floor, squirming. Hands were on him, pulling him there where it hurt. Mirin was screaming, and they beat her away.

Lucifer only wanted to sleep forever.

***

His beloved Lucifer came back in pieces in a recurrent nightmare.

Sandalphon tried to pick his bones up, afraid he might have missed a few pieces. He'd come to know every part of his lover and carry them delicately, carefully putting his head back together like he would a clay sculpture. It never ended. As soon as he thought he'd finished the puzzle, Lucifer disappeared, only to come back with the same nightmare.

If there was a place called the Void, that's where Lucifer took Sandalphon. He was so exhausted, his last memory was the sensation of hard and rugged stone under his skin, and that sensation transferred to the Cupid. He was suffering somewhere, and something terrible, dangerous, and terrifying was lurking in the Void.

Sandalphon didn't care about the threat as much as Lucifer's pieces. Why had some of his feathers turned black? Why did he have red pieces of bone? Lucifer was in such a state he couldn't shape a coherent thought, all left to symbolism and emotion. He was clay.

All the Cupid could do was pray as it seemed to drive a few shadows away. He'd hum, picking up the pieces, and picture the happy times. Their coffee breaks in the garden hadn't lasted long, maybe a few months, but those were the best in his life.

He was sorry he'd shouted, accused Lucifer of only wanting him to use him. When and how had he become so selfish? He'd taken Lucifer's sanity and heart for granted, and now that it was falling to shambles, he didn't know what to do anymore except long for his return in one piece.

"I'm sorry I was so greedy," Sandalphon said to the head, gluing his earlobe against his ear. "Your crown is still waiting for you. Always."

And suddenly, the head cried. The entire Void shrieked. Sandalphon covered his ears and closed his eyes while it was no use in a dream. Even if he didn't want to see anything, he saw everything, and it was horrible.

Sandalphon saw Arbiter, terrifying in Lucifer's eyes, he saw the prison, he felt the taste of blood in his mouth. Lucifer was calling, screaming for help inside of his head. It had to stop, but he couldn't wake up, his heart was beating too fast, he was breaking, Lucifer was tearing, Sandalphon wanted it to stop, but it wouldn't.

Someone covered Sandalphon's eyes, and an even deeper horror took over him when Sahar whispered, "San-chan, you're having a terrible, terrible nightmare. None of this is real."

It felt real. Sahar's soft reassurances put doubt in his heart, but he kept seeing that severed head with its closed eyes. It was there, it was really there, and Sahar wouldn't let him pick up the pieces.

"Help Lucifer please!"

"None of this is real. You are having a nightmare," Sahar repeated.

"We're in a dreamscape, it's not the same! What's going on with Lucifer?!" Sandalphon cried.

"San-chan… If you knew, I'm afraid of how it would affect your—"

"Sahar, please!" Anger was taking over Sandalphon, but the image of the head was fading.

"Something terrible happened. Are you sure you want to know?" Sahar asked.

"Do you promise to stay with me until Lucifer can return?"

"San-chan… Do you hate me that much?"

The Speaker seemed hurt, and the shame hurt Sandalphon. It was more painful to say he still loved Sahar than to lie, saying he hated him. His true feelings must have reached the Speaker because he smiled.

"You are my duty, and I have sealed you here. I'll help you through these tough times, naturally. Put a bit more faith into me, my love."

Sandalphon braced, afraid of what he was going to hear. What happened to Lucifer while he was asleep, unable to help him? Everything terrible that was happening to them was that arrow's fault, that spell's fault, his existence's fault. 

"Lucifer has gone insane—"

Sahar dispelled a gigantic wave that had suddenly grown behind them, a tsunami of self-loathing. "No, no, San-chan, it has nothing to do with the arrow. It's not your fault."

Sandalphon needed someone to hold him, someone to keep his pieces together, but Sahar had taken his distance from the moment he made that announcement. The shock was in the space between them, uncontained.

"How? Lucifer was the sanest person I knew!"

Sandalphon was unable to cry in that dream, but everything around them was chaos. Flashes, images, memories, guilt, animals, noises. It was no use closing his eyes or covering his ears.

"He's fallen, Sandalphon."

"But it is him! His heart hasn't changed!"

Sahar gently took Sandalphon's cheeks between his hands, no lies hidden in his eyes. Just like Sandalphon, his heart was an open book in the dreamscape.

"San-chan, I know you've befriended a Fallen Angel, but she was a weak, harmless one. Lucifer was aware of his actions and their consequences.

I have respected your demand to not show myself during Lucifer's visits, haven't I?" Sahar asked, and shame came trampling Sandalphon again.

"He's no different from that serpent woman anymore. He isn't part of our world anymore."

"B-but… Lucifer…"

"Shhh," Sahar kissed Sandalphon's forehead. "I've only heard of his actions recently, and thank goodness I was here when he started attacking you. Hadn't you felt he was changing?"

What should Sandalphon have felt? The only upsetting event he could remember was that shared nightmare. At that moment, he desired penetration and to penetrate like an animal. Yes, something had changed, and that beast devouring him had probably begun taking over Lucifer long ago.

"There is nothing wrong in carnal desire and the act of flesh," Sahar said as if he'd read through his mind or seen that dream, "but he might have shown you the real colors he wasn't aware of yet."

"Have you seen that dream?" Sandalphon asked.

"I saw everything, San-chan. I'm sorry his last visits have evaded me. There's been some interference," Sahar said, smiling.

Had Sandalphon been awake and able, he might have killed himself at that moment. It was humiliating as if his former lover had been peeping at him, getting devoured by a beast. Sandalphon had no privacy, no freedom, no self. If denying himself was his only way to not lose his mind while Sahar's hostage, then it was inevitable.

Either that, or he could rebel. Was there any way to hide the truth in the dreamscape? The Cupid had an idea; If he wanted to submit, to erase his ego and fall to his knees if Sandalphon convinced himself he wanted Sahar the way he wanted Lucifer, then the illusion would be perfect. He'd have to master two trains of thought at the same time, carrying a shield and a sword in secret.

"Lucifer has lost his mind?" he asked again, trying to convince himself it was true.

Sahar was there to protect him. Sahar was good. Sahar was his everything, the one he'd always loved and was meant to serve. He loved having sex with him, he loved that hot and hard part he didn't have giving its love to him, spilling its seed between his legs.

Then his other self screamed in indignation, and he wanted it to shut up. His poor, dear Lucifer! His grief was as consuming and dark as the Void, leaving him numb. Sandalphon was asleep, and couldn't save his beloved, couldn't do anything. If Lucifer had lost his mind, then he needed to lose his mind as well.

"Yes. He's insane and dangerous," Sahar repeated each time Sandalphon asked, again and again, gently petting his head.

***

"Is he gonna sleep through eternity, or is he gonna make a move to get outta here?" Samael grumbled, leaning against the bars of her cell.

Arbiter Mortis was terribly fond of that Seraph, and nobody envied him. Never had she seen someone go through such lengthy and frequent torture sessions. What terrible secrets did he have to reveal? Did they even have an excuse to treat him that way? Maybe he kept none, and there was no reason. None of the prisoners had a fair trial.

It had taken weeks for Lucifer's appearance to change. A shift in his heart, maybe. They all ended up hating the Almighty and the world, but not all of them were cursed by Arbiter Mortis. Some of their hearts had rotten by themselves, and their appearances changed with their evil actions. Samael had murdered, plundered, tortured without any regret, even pleasure. Lucifer wasn't like her.

The clip clap of barefoot steps was approaching, and the lump of feathers quivered. The cradle of white and black wings had started shaking uncontrollably.

"L-Lucifer," the woman was hugging the cradle, trying to comfort that man she'd started calling a friend one-sidedly.

The steps were coming closer. Silence had fallen in the galley, everyone wondering whose turn it was going to be if it wasn't Lucifer's. Most Demons weren't capable of much empathy, but nobody believed he deserved what he went through. Some were even indignant but never opened their mouths in the guard's presence.

Samael felt like she saw double. "Egrigori, do you see what I see?" she asked, as a man with long blonde hair stood in front of Lucifer's cell.

She couldn't see his face, covered in part by his long blonde hair and the darkness of the galley. His dress was familiar, as well as his gait. Samael had to dig in her muddled, exhausted, drugged, and bruised head to remember. She knew him, but with the intensity of her daily torture and the fumes of the cheap drug she'd become addicted to, she would have had trouble recognizing her brother. Egrigori, for some reason, had crawled nearer to her, and gently put his skeletal hand on her tail. He was glaring at the stranger.

"Lucifer," the man called, and the cradle seemed to shrink, tiny and pitiable.

Receiving no response, he said, "It looks like it's true you've fallen. I'm sorry to see that."

Anyone else would have fallen lower than him with the torture he endured! Nobody was going to defend him, but Samael could smell both Lucifer's and his cell-mate's stress, and her grip against the bars tightened. Egrigori was keeping his eyes on her, intense and, large and dark over his hollow and grey cheeks.

It was no surprise to Samael someone of the High Council knew about this place and felt nothing about it. While humans smelled pleasantly of all of their fears and desires, that man smelled of nothing, of air, a glitzy hollow shell. To Gods, Fallen Angels and Nephilim alike were dirt meant to live in filth.

"I've come here for Sandalphon's sake."

At the Cupid's mention, the cradle slightly quivered, but Lucifer still didn't reply. He was awake and aware, but maybe too weak to even talk.

"I didn't want to believe Arbiter at first, but I must face the fact that you have become a danger for him."

"That's not true." Lucifer's voice was weak, merely a whisper, but they could all pick it up. "I am not a danger for him, and we need each other."

"Now, now, Lucifer," the God chimed, "The spell's effect should have ended about three years ago. You can't tell me you _need_ to see Sandalphon anymore, and neither does he."

Three years? Did that mean they'd been in that prison for at least five? She'd lost sense and count of time in the constant darkness. That would have explained why Egrigori had become so weak, and her so addicted to the Demon's Orchid. She had to giggle. It seemed Lord Satan had abandoned them for good. Maybe Azazel told him they were dead.

Whatever Lucifer said in his defense wouldn't have mattered. A Fallen Angel had no rights and hadn't Sandalphon spoken about Lucifer, that God wouldn't have looked for him to check if he was dead or alive.

"I need him," Lucifer replied, slowly breaking out of his shell, "now more than ever. I need him to not go astray."

Lucifer was still naïve, still hopeful, still a Seraph at heart. He believed in the kindness of Gods, in a chance at redemption and forgiveness. Either that, or he was mocking his visitor. Samael leaned in, a smile growing on her face. Things were getting interesting.

"San-chan doesn't need you."

Lucifer hissed, his voice husky, "No more than Sandalphon needs you either, Sahar."

He was losing his calm, but Samael couldn't get excited about it. Sahar? The name sounded familiar to her, and his toga as well. Maybe it was the setting, but he was so out of place; he looked unreal, like an old nightmare appearing in reality.

The temperature was rising, and Samael covered her mouth to not giggle nervously. Even Egrigori had stood up, uneasy on his feet, swaying like a grotesque skeleton. Mammon, her belly rounder than ever, was gaping, her view on his cell better than Samael's.

"You've gone completely insane, my friend," Sahar mumbled. "You won't be seeing my San-chan ever again."

Lucifer lunged towards the bars, and Sahar took a step back, giggling as if that attitude only confirmed his beliefs.

"I've been set up, Sahar! Arbiter keeps spouting lies, killing innocent people in the name of the Almighty! You, the closest Speaker to the Almighty, you would know she has no right to give us orders, don't you?!"

A Speaker? The closest Speaker to the Almighty? The fog in Samael's brain was lifting, but for some reason that evaded her, she felt like keeping deep inside that fog.

Sahar scratched the back of his neck, mimicking embarrassment Samael's keen nose didn't smell.

"Oh, Lucifer! I believed someone ranking as high as you would understand that even though Master is gone for a while, we need to keep peace and order in our ranks and humans on our side."

His Master? The Almighty was the Master of all Gods, but they called Him their Father. Who would have called Him that way? Samael felt like hitting her head against a wall. Why did she keep blanking out, and why had she started seeing stars and black spots?

"At the price of thousands of innocent lives?! At the price of women, children, and elderly people?"

"You see only the smaller picture, Lucifer. Witch hunts are just one of the necessary sacrifices to keep the larger population under control. It has always been that way."

Lucifer was stunned speechless. Were Seraphs all that oblivious? Even Egrigori was aware of the inequalities and injustices of the world. The younger generation was ignorant, perfect brainless little soldiers distracted by a thousand meaningless details. Just like Sahar said, Lucifer couldn't see the larger picture.

"A human life is short and horrible in our day. The good mortals go to a better place, and some of those witches like Magisa are a real threat to us. You failed at that one important mission we gave you, and even helped them escape."

Lucifer didn't respond anymore. He seemed to have understood no matter what he said, their conversation wasn't going to go anywhere. No matter his appeals, the Speaker wouldn't have helped him out of that cell. Sahar had stolen him of Sandalphon, and that's all he'd come to say.

"Glad you understood," Sahar said, "Now if you try to sleep, you won't see him anymore. I've cut the bridge connecting you."

Still no response from Lucifer, but a wave of anger as deep and hot as hell tickled Samael's nostrils. Never had she sensed such rage before, and then she understood; maybe this was a torture session. Perhaps this was what finally broke Lucifer.

"My heart…" Lucifer rasped, "Give me my heart back, Speaker of Dawn!"

Electricity shook through Samael. Now she could remember that God! The Divine Adam, the murderer, the monster who took her brother! She wasn't sure it was her voice, but someone was screaming, and she was imploding from inside, and Egrigori was holding her tight, and she was struggling, clawing at the ground, swearing she was going to kill that murderer.

Lucifer slammed against the bars, repeating whatever insanity he meant by returning his heart, pleading, screaming, all sense of pride lost, reduced to a raging beast by a few words.

"Goodbye, may my Master have pity for your soul," Sahar said, taking his leave while Lucifer kept roaring, ignoring the shocks the seals must have been shooting through him. He was about to break himself against the bars, slamming against them like a maddened bird.

"We'll get your heart back!" Samael shouted, "We'll burn everything to the ground if we must! Keep your head on your shoulders, and we'll get it back!" The collar at her throat was sending debilitating pain through her entire body.

"Sammy!" Egrigori cried, "Please, calm down, Sammy!"

He was pushing his face in the crook of her neck, trying to find a way, any way to calm her down, even squeezing one her tits to soothe his hysterical mate. The only thing which would have worked would have been killing that Speaker of Dawn on the spot!

"We'll break out of here, get your Cupid back, and destroy that bastard and his Master! We'll destroy God and Heaven and Humanity! To oblivion with us and everything!"

She was screaming her lungs out, unable to see where Lucifer was standing.

Egrigori was so weak and small against her serpentine body, she felt her tiny dry heart twist and cry the last tears it held for him. He didn't deserve that – none of them did.

"Just wake the fuck up, Lucifer! Stop the idiotic dreaming! Wake the fuck up and fight!"

Be it because of dependence, weakened by torture or in love, they'd all been dreaming for too long. A new alliance shaped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New turning point. Lucifer has woken up, and he's in a really bad mood (oops.) Next chapter will begin the Rebellion arc!


	16. Chapter 16

"So, Sandy's locked with his apocalyptic powers in some stone because the Speaker went bananas after that arrow incident, destroying the angel's trust in him and creating a potential for rebellion."

Samael puffed a cloud of smoke, and Lucifer shut his eyes as it hit his face, Mirin coughing.

"Good for us that he isn't going anywhere, but for us to get to Etemenanki is gonna take a war," Samael said with a wry smile in her voice.

The small group fell silent at the regular passages of the guards. Mirin felt like the sore thumb in the group, a little nothing of a Succubus surrounded by former Seraphs and some sort of monster Echidna. She kept seated silently and obediently next to Lucifer. He was her only comfort in that dark, scary place.

Samael lifted an eyebrow as Lucifer didn't react, and took in another long breath of the poison. Mirin could sense his wariness, saving the last of his energy to speak, think, and keep his eyes on the serpent woman. Samael had a fearsome reputation in Hell, and she was the last person Mirin wanted to anger.

Egrigori was laying against Samael's serpentine body, grimacing at the odor of the cigar. Shit, he'd said, it was the worst kind of shit that made even Samael dependent. The only reason they hadn't been able to escape until then was her addiction to that drug and the brain fog it caused.

Samael had a plan of Pandemonium in her head but was unable to remember while under its influence. Within a few days, she'd become dependent. The rolls weren't a gift from a neighbor, but a trap from the prison itself. Egrigori's frail body had started rejecting it before they heightened the doses to worsen Samael's addiction.

The guards had plenty of twisted ways to keep the demons under their control; they starved Mammon, and then stuffed her like a goose with her own comrades until her stomach was so grotesquely round, she couldn't move anymore. Then they starved her again and kept her in a vicious cycle of bulimia, too obsessed by food to think.

They'd clipped Egrigori's wings, and pushed him to use all of the remaining energy inside of his body and didn't let him feed. Staying with Samael was troublesome because they riled each other up. Egrigori was aroused by danger, and Samael had a murderous drive. They were stuck in a sick compromise supposed to calm their bestial impulses, and the constant struggle against their instincts exhausted both of them.

Maybe looking for an argument, Samael sniggered, "And Sandy's waiting like a damsel in distress for you to pick him up."

Lucifer had said what he had to say, and he stated his authority by not repeating himself. He didn't fall for Samael's provocation, but he needed her cooperation. She could think whatever she wanted, mock his romance with the Cupid, boast about her implication in the incident; he didn't bat an eyelid.

Samael remained silent for so long, Mirin wondered if she'd passed out, and she had a start when the serpent suddenly cried, "The idiot!" and burst into loud laughter.

"Say, say, Lucifer," she asked, her voice falling so low, they had to lean against the bars to hear her. "What the fuck is keeping you here now?"

"I fail to understand what you mean."

"Exactly what I said!" she crawled up the bars, her voice husky. "You were having your long depression naps just to cry on your prince's shoulder. Wakey, wakey, it's time to kill."

Lucifer didn't seem impressed. Samael wasn't wrong, but there must have been more than Sandalphon keeping Lucifer inside the prison. There was the security, the dungeon, the torture, and his wings were clipped. Trying to force his way out on his own in his condition was impossible.

"Alrighty," Samael hummed, coiling around Egrigori, who flinched, "I need to get off this shit. Greggy," she chimed, and Egrigori scoffed at the nickname, "Are you okay to die in case I go bananas during withdrawal?"

"Obviously not!" he wheezed, trying miserably to crawl out of her deathly hug. She'd found an easier target to bully.

The head at the tip of her tail nibbled his head, drooling over his white hair, and the poor, terrified man's pasty face flushed. He giggled nervously.

"Oh, yes, you do. You love getting down into my stomach." Egrigori weakly flailed, whining.

"Hey, Luci's cellmate," she snapped, and Mirin jumped. No, she didn't want to be the next!

"Why'd you think they put you in with Lucifer? What kinda problem are you?"

With a small voice, she replied, "I-I don't know. I'm not as strong as you guys."

"Putting a deadweight on Lucifer, huh," Samael mumbled loud enough for Mirin to hear. "Lucifer, you see any reason they'd keep her with you?"

"No. I don't know that woman," he lied.

Was he saying that to protect her? He sounded convincing and indifferent.

"You're lying!" Samael growled, "That woman has been tucking you in, humming to you in your sleep. She even tried to stop the guards from taking you away once."

"You did that for me?" Lucifer asked.

Mirin squirmed, uncomfortable under his searing gaze, feeling tiny. He wasn't quite the Seraph she'd met once, but even then, he was intimidating. His soft glow had faded and turned into a harsh, artificial sparkle, and his tone had taken an unsettling pitch. It was as if someone was twisting his guts and laughter almost escaped his lips. A hint of madness, maybe.

"Sandalphon's friends are my friends!" she said, and Samael snorted.

"Ain't she cute?" Mammon hummed from her cell. "She smells tasty too."

Mirin tried to make herself bigger with her wings and puffing her chest, like a terrified bird in a cage full of cats.

"I might not be the smartest or the strongest, but I still have a heart!" Mirin said. "I couldn't let Lucifer sleep shivering on the dirty floor!"

"That's a call to get bullied by Demons sweetie," Samael chuckled, puffing one last purple cloud. "Do you feel like you still have a heart, Lucifer?"

"Thank you, Mirin," Lucifer said, ignoring Samael, the shadow of a smile appearing on his lips.

The snake mumbled something about knowing that name from somewhere but fell back into contemplative, stoned silence. There was still a small, glowing light in the center of the void surrounding the fallen Seraph. Mirin could feel he wasn't entirely lost yet. He was going to protect her as long as she didn't become a nuisance.

"I want to help you get Sandalphon out of that rock or whatever that Speaker put him into. Don't trust those Demons so easily either! They could betray you at the last moment!"

"Bitch… You do have some guts. I'll check them later," Samael said between her teeth. Mirin shivered, but Lucifer put a hand on her shoulder.

Claws had grown at the tip of his black hand, a few distorted bones like dragon scales protruding out of his wrist and arm. She could see the glowing veins almost naked between creases of his torn skin, branching up to his shoulder.

"You want to save Sandalphon, right? You don't just want to take his power and destroy the world like they do, do you?"

This time, Lucifer smiled wryly, leaving a worrying doubt in the pit of her stomach. After the torture he went through, most Demons wanted to destroy the world and take everything with them. The pain didn't end with the torture; the curse still active and tearing them apart at every breath. If he had wanted to go that far, she'd have understood him.

"Have you two had sex in those dreams?" Mammon quipped, but Egrigori hushed her, chuckling and coughing.

Lucifer grunted, but the silent method didn't work against the glutton.

"Mh, that's too bad. I can imagine plenty of things I'd like to dream about," Mammon said, licking her lips.

Mirin could also imagine plenty she'd have loved to experience with that Cupid. Wasn't it a marvelous thing to be conscious in dreams and capable of controlling them? She imagined him on a swing, his long toga lifting to reveal his legs. He'd have been smiling, happy with no under—

"It's not time to dream. We decided to wake up," Egrigori said, slapping Samael's… Behind, was it? Samael coiled tighter around him, and he wheezed. They just couldn't restrain themselves.

"I wonder, though…" Mirin started, and all eyes fell on her, almost intimidating her into silence.

"Yanno, I'm a Succubus. I heard about the bridge thing, and I know what he means and how to repair one."

"Is that true?" Lucifer asked.

"Yeah, but I'd have to practice a lot more."

"That's not a priority," Samael snapped. "We stay awake, get the hell out of here, return to Satan, and then we think about giving Sandy horny dreams, okay?"

"T-That wasn't my intention!" Mirin squeaked, and for the first time, Lucifer's shoulders slightly shook as if he were laughing.

"Are you able to break into anyone's dreams?" Lucifer asked, a bit more energetic than moments before. He seemed determined to escape.

"Um, yeah."

"We need to know the situation outside, how much time has passed if the configuration and security of the prison are still the same. Can you get into the guard's heads?" Lucifer asked.

"B-but," Mirin put her hands on the collar around her neck. "I can't use my magic here!"

"Dreamscaping is white magic, and these collars absorb only black magic. If they believe it's just an inconsequential dream, they'll easily spill information."

Mirin wasn't the cunning type and was terrible at lying, but she didn't feel like an outsider anymore. Lucifer himself was asking for her help, and she took some pride in his trust. They were all counting on her. She couldn't trust her restraint capability, but if the collar prevented her from attacking, maybe nobody was going to die.

"Fine, but I need to practice with someone," she said, determined. "You never know how people's brains work, and I don't wanna end up fighting someone's childhood trauma."

"There's plenty of space and material to practice in my head," Lucifer said.

It definitely wasn't going to be safe. Lucifer wasn't in his normal state, and she didn't want to confront Arbiter's evil avatar before even trying to build a bridge towards Sandalphon. Still, they relied on her.

"Samael," she called timidly, replied by a gruff grunt. "Could I try practicing in your head?"

"Huh? You crazy?" Samael hummed, but she was attentive, and her tone wasn't aggressive.

"No, but Lucifer's mind right now scares me more than yours, and he has less time to sleep."

She won a point on the General's side for "having balls." Not quite sure what the serpent woman meant by that, at the first opportunity, Mirin slithered into her dreamscape.

***

What was the mind of an insane person like? Mirin had believed it was a chaotic mess, a dark, theatrical, terrifying place filled with monsters. Instead, she found a Plastic Eden.

A sociopathic luster rendered every surface shiny and plastic-like, artificial, and lifeless. There was no warmth, not even in the sun or in the poison-green grass or in the rubbery leaves. It looked like the center of a tacky stage, where the spotlight was on the hero, child Samael.

She was cute with her curly white hair and little doll dress, a large ribbon on her head. Nephilim never had white wings, but she had a small black set as if it were a disguise. The avatars which appeared looked like puppets. Samael was a little girl playing with them, and from what Mirin understood, they were fighting.

"Dirty, dirty Nephilim!" the puppet with the long blonde hair and white toga said, "You should be thankful I offer you this cage!"

The puppet with the short black hair and red eyes replied, "I've thanked your wife plenty, Mister Adam! Oh no, why will you kill me now?!"

Adam took out what looked like a toy knife and started hitting the other puppet's head with it. "I will kill you because you're a whore, Belial!"

"Noooo!"

It was ridiculous of a scene, but the little girl's face became rather scary as the mean Adam puppet kept on hitting Belial's head with a knife. She suddenly threw Adam to the ground and started stomping him.

"You dirtbag! You mean, mean…" and tears welled up her eyes.

With a start that almost woke her up, Mirin noticed a tall figure looming over the little girl. It looked like a puppet with a Cheshire-cat like grin and empty blue eyes, wrapped in flowy white and golden robes. It was laughing at her, calling Samael an "Error of nature." 

"Don't take Belial!" she cried, "Belial is mine!" but the terrifying creature with long black fingers pulled the puppet out of her arms and left with it.

"Give me my brother back, Eve!" Samael screamed, stomping Adam harder as if to attract its attention. It didn't care.

Nobody was there to comfort the little girl, and not even the garden or the environment seemed to care. It didn't change anything, no symbols, no other nightmare-like apparitions than the giant puppet.

The Adam plushie stood up, taking a life of its own, and laughed at the little girl. Its toy knife was still in its hand. Mirin felt like it was the moment to intervene and show herself. She took out a massive sledgehammer and swung it down at the small pest.

It boomed in the dreamscape. The little girl looked at her with wide round eyes. Was Samael this cute before, or did she view herself that way? Mirin didn't have the time to linger over details, that the little girl's face was red, and she was glaring at the Succubus.

"You destroyed my last plushie, you bitch!" Samael screamed, "I wanted to kill it! I can't kill it, so I'll kill you instead!"

The cute little girl took out a gun. It was so cartoon-like, Mirin was tempted to laugh, but a bullet would have woken her up. Samael was unable to part reality and delusion, even woken to memory.

"Belial will be back soon," Mirin said, and the little girl seemed to calm down a bit.

"H-he will?" she asked in a smaller, fragile voice.

When a person was delusional, it was best to follow their desires in a dreamscape and gently lead them out of a nightmare, somewhere they'd feel safe. Contradicting them only led to more resistance. Honesty had its place in the waking hours.

"Yes, he will. Your brother will come back."

As if echoing that belief, Mirin sensed another presence growing. The sensation was comforting, but at the same time, something made the Succubus feel slightly sick. These were Samael's feelings for that person, and he made her SICK.

"Oh, a visitor? And quite the appealing one too," a deep male voice said.

"Brother?!" The little girl was smiling, but she was squirming at the same time.

She couldn't trust that man. He was cunning and had hurt her more than once, for no logical reason. The little girl was wondering how to act, how to make him happy, how to deserve his love and validation, but she felt like throwing up as well. He only ever cared about himself, and that dirty whore, Eve, so she had to become cunning too.

Samael's thoughts were pouring out, flowing like a little girl's confessions into Mirin's head. She had to learn how to control that ability, cut them out, keep her own mind and sensations. In the head of a maniac, she realized, that was close to impossible. Samael's trauma was too intense for a Succubus of her level to handle.

The man in front of her wore a white uniform of another time. Mirin had seen those described in books of the ancient library. It was the outfit of a Seraph, with golden threads and buttons and a red honorary sash. Yet, unlike Seraphs, he didn't show his wings.

Belial was a Nephilim, black hair, red eyes, and no divine glow. His presence was so dominative, wasn't Mirin still aware of herself, she'd have believed he was real. Could such a powerful ancient entity keep living on inside his sister's head, or leave a part of himself behind?

"What's a hottie like you doing, spying on my little sister, hm? Are you into voyeurism or something, or are you in for the freak-show?"

He was becoming menacing, reflecting the part of Samael unhappy with her revelations to Mirin. She had to stay logical, not fall into the trap of believing the person she was facing was real. He was just a protective barrier, like a Cerberus at the gate of Hell.

"Samael invited me in this dream to help us get out of prison," Mirin tried.

Belial scratched his chin. "But she's here, with me, in a safe place. She's not in prison, and this isn't a dream."

"Samael promised to practice with me," Mirin tried again, feeling it wasn't going to work.

"This isn't a dream. I'm here, alive, and Sammy's safe," he said, leaning down menacingly over her. "See, she's a very, very sad and traumatized little girl, yet you keep believing she's just insane and are disrespecting her boundaries. Are you another one of those mean puppets who say I'm dead?"

Mirin touched her face by reflex, sensing something inside of her had changed. She had turned into plastic. Suddenly, she was in a gigantic Belial's hand. "I thought you were a different kind of doll, babe. Too bad we won't have any fun together," he said.

With a push of his thumbs, he popped her head off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Belial? More Belial!
> 
> There will be an extra chapter in the dreamscapes and some funny stuff to relax the atmosphere a bit. Yeah, Eve is scary.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, even though it's not extremely graphic, there's vore (no gore) by the end of this chapter. Vore means a kind of paraphilia, a fetish, where someone gets eaten. It has an important purpose for the plot, but it will be the most extreme this story gets and there won’t be more.
> 
> Also, just one other kinky thing, but I find it harmless. Please warn me in the comments if you think it's worth a tag. I sometimes hesitate to tag a few things, because they have no importance in the plot and are minor, but tell me if I should do otherwise.

"Mirin," Lucifer sighed at the grinning Sandalphon.

Lucifer was a hard one to bluff, no matter how much he wanted to see Sandalphon again. His many years spending his sleeping time in a dreamscape had trained him for lucid dreaming. He could drop his barriers for Mirin but was still close to impossible to deceive. She'd failed yet again.

"Awn, isn't the illusion perfect? How do you know you're dreaming?"

"Sandalphon is quite affectionate, but he would rather jump into a frozen lake than call me like Luuuucifeeer!" Lucifer shouted in a reedy voice, imitating the Succubus in a sudden switch of attitude that startled her.

"I'm not that intense!"

"Yes, you are. You even run with your fists near your shoulders," he said, pointing his feet inwards and clowning her run with disturbing ease, skipping around as energetically as a deer and calling his own name.

He'd understood one thing and embraced it; everything was allowed in dreams. Even teased by him, Mirin felt privileged. It was probably the first time Lucifer had ever made fun of someone. Was it proof of his trust in her, or growing insanity? Either way, they both laughed. It seemed they'd become good friends, and that belief gave her a smile back.

"We've made so much progress! Look how calm your dreamscape is!" she said, waving to the endless field of blue flowers.

Without Mirin's presence and help, the field had soon started burning and taken a menacing appearance. Poor Lucifer had only nightmares when she wasn't around. They were about Arbiter, his past crimes, and losing Sandalphon to blue fire. She was covering the stakes, the flames, the wails of men and women with a soft breeze, buried under flowers. That was her secret progress as a Succubus.

Being discovered so quickly felt like a failure after all of her training. Like any other Succubus, she could sense what aroused Lucifer physically and what he desired, but she still couldn't get through his defenses. Her weaknesses as a Succubus were yet another obstacle.

How could she tell the great Lucifer what she felt for him? How could she let everyone down, falling for her base instincts and stealing him of a moment he deeply desired? Her illusions failed because she loved him too much. Mammon kept speaking of the necessary evil, that if she had inhibitions about harming someone's feelings, she'd never become strong enough.

Was it necessary to be mean to Lucifer? Didn't he already suffer enough? Just a tiny little bite, a small taste at his pleasure couldn't hurt said the naughty voice in her head. No, no, she couldn't embarrass him with such things! Lucifer would have been shocked by how kinky he was, and she couldn't bring herself to reveal it to him. The skies forgive her; she knew too much while the inexperienced Seraph wasn't aware of any of his desires.

"I owe a lot to Miss Mammon," Mirin said, trying to not overthink Lucifer's desires.

"Are you finding it easier to stay asleep through, uhm, nightmares?" Lucifer asked as if reading her mind.

The world slightly shivered with the flutter in her stomach. "A-ah, yes!" she replied, suppressing her thought. Was Lucifer smiling? His face was becoming blurry, and she felt something was waking her up or Lucifer. The bridge was collapsing.

Mirin woke up with the tormentors dragging her out of her cell. Her life had become this way; snippets of dreams she could control and snippets of wakefulness in a living nightmare. The guards suspected she was well-fed, but they believed she was devouring Lucifer, who acted catatonic.

Mammon was there to tend to her wounds, and Lucifer was there to listen. She was going to be okay. They were all going to be okay.

***

"Egrigoriii," Samael moaned for the hundredth time, and for the hundredth time, even a breath from death by exhaustion, he still replied, "I'm here."

The snake woman's scales had grown all the way up her face and chest, peeling off as if she had shingles. Gasping for air, Samael was sweat-drenched and feverish. Their bodies were more resistant and different from humans, but drugs could affect them the same way. She'd always been skeletal, an arm much longer than the other made of skin on bone, a strange cast like a snake's spine holding it together. Ugly was an understatement. She was monstrous, her single eye with black sclera and a crescent-moon as a pupil, sharp teeth, and nails like claws.

He'd never seen more cursed Fallen Angel, even Nephilim. Twisted and corrupted by wrath, her addictions and obsessions had made her into this abomination. Still, he put his cheek to hers, hard and unwelcoming like everything else about her.

Just a few days ago, such tenderness would have owned him a punch, a hiss, something. He'd have been overjoyed to receive any sort of reaction. The guardians had noticed she'd stopped smoking, and had probably guessed the duo was planning their evasion.

Egrigori had a distant recollection of what she looked like before she fell, one of the three chosen Nephilim children Sahar had saved from a purge. Her appearance adolescent, she'd glared at him from behind Belial. Red locks, a pouty face, red eyes which pierced through him without an ounce of sympathy. The Adjutant of Chaos had made her into what she became, not the Speaker of Dawn she blamed. At the time, Egrigori saw them as impurities undeserving of Sahar's pity.

"Egrigori," she sobbed.

"You've been calling my name, rather than your brother's," he remarked, more to himself than to her.

All Demons could ever do was hurt and do evil. Lord Satan encouraged mischief, rewarded Egrigori's feats with more lovers, more gold, more power, more admirers, more drugs. Cheap thrills, shallow relationships, all he ever deserved. While Samael's exterior appearance had twisted, his heart must have been even uglier. Out of the two, he was far worse a monster.

A moment of lucidity flickered in her black and gold eye, and her wrath was back. Samael frowned at him as if she were about to slap him in the face. Egrigori felt a shiver of excitement. She seemed offended by the sensation of his naked body against hers, even though it was the only way to contain her violent convulsions. They were treated like animals, rags that wouldn't last as only covers.

"You're beautiful," he tried and confirmed she was still in her delusions as she didn't react.

Samael broke into tears. Sweet, sweet tears, he thought, kissing her cheek.

***

The prison was so silent when Samael wasn't screaming. It had been a long time since she last moved, Mirin thought. All she could see from their neighboring cells were two bodies lying together, as immobile as dead.

"Babyyyy," Mammon chimed, too fat to even stand, a shower of flesh rippling down on her tubby legs. Her breast squeezed against the barrier.

"Please, don't call me like that outside of dreams. I'm not your mate!" Mirin whispered, but the Glutton smelled so horny and tempting, she had to wipe the drool off her mouth.

"Aw, you're so conservative! Nobody cares about what we're doing. It's a necessary evil – or good, I wonder, hm hm!"

"You, always with the necessary evil stuff," Mirin sighed, lying down, ready to give the Glutton a good time, but Mammon shook her head, gesturing her to sit. She obeyed.

Mammon kept seated, grinning and fluttering her eyelashes, eyeing Mirin hungrily. She wasn't going to sleep. Lucifer was out and weren't there so many magical seals between them, Mirin would have worried about her safety. That Glutton was unpredictable.

She'd welcomed the Succubus in her dreams with spread legs. Mirin had cut through the bridge like butter, sucked in rather than fighting her way through. It told her Mammon lacked boundaries. Her personality was the opposite of Samael's; exhibition rather than inhibition, mania against depression, hunger like rage. A feral beast.

Where Mammon came from, how she'd ended in prison, Mirin knew nothing. Mirin could only ever do what the Glutton instructed her, only ever know as much as her breast and cunt. Even though there seemed to be no barriers in Mammon's dreamscape, no immediate threat, no nightmares, her lack of thought and complete abandon to instincts was dangerous.

"Mammon," Mirin whispered, "Something's been bugging me."

The Glutton hummed and leaned in, all of her body imprinting into the barriers. Mirin swallowed her spit; her stupid brain was short-circuiting again. Boobies, boobies, tight, plump pussy, tail! She bit her lip to ground herself.

"How do you know so much about dreamscapes while you're not one of us? You've been giving me the most incredible d-dreams," Mirin said, turning her tongue inside her mouth to avoid slipping.

"It was the witches! The Lilith Worshippers."

"Lilith worshippers?"

"Uhuh, uhuh, a big cult waiting for the Apocalypse!" Mammon nodded energetically, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "They navigate in dreams and fuck with Succubus," she winked at Mirin. "Stop worrying so hard, eat Mommy Mammon out, okay?"

"But… I might hurt you."

The Glutton laughed and flashed her one of her tits, licking her lips as she rubbed her bare nipple. "I'll sooner have choked you by sitting on your cute face than died of exhaustion."

Mirin was determined. Everyone was counting on her, and her inhibitions were holding her back. She had to let go.

***

Lucifer dreamed of threads.

He'd reached the Garden at last. The Cupid was sitting on top of a stone wall, gazing at the stars. His legs hung in front of Lucifer's face. The Fallen Angel felt the weight from the battle he'd won, the excitement of success.

Sandalphon wasn't smiling, looking up with a meditative gaze, unresponsive to Lucifer's calls. Couldn't the Cupid see him? It felt as if they were lightyears apart, but Lucifer stood there, admiring his beloved like he would a beautiful sculpture.

He wore a brown armor and a green sash, a hood covering his head, shadows caressing his face, red eyes distant. Lucifer was sure; this must be Sandalphon, the real one. He longed to pick him off the wall and take him away but believed it was impossible.

Sandalphon looked as melancholy as if he had lost something precious. Lucifer wasn't the same anymore, a Demon, something he'd said was a vile, evil creature. Was Sandalphon sad because of what Lucifer had become, or was he lonely? Lucifer wished he could simply reach him and tell him everything was going to be alright.

The lonely little Cupid laid alone in a tomb higher than the stars hanging in the skies.

Sandalphon's lips parted, and it was as if he looked directly into Lucifer's eyes, into his heart, and pulled at a little string that tugged at his chest. Lucifer feared to be uncovered, feeling bare and vulnerable. He didn't want Sandalphon to see him in his state, with his red horns, with his torn and broken armor, with his black wings. Don't look at me, Lucifer thought.

Sandalphon's legs shimmered like bronze in his nylon tights. As he crossed them, unaware of the Fallen Angel's presence, his sash slipped and revealed a thread was sticking out over the front of his ankle. It was an out of place and upsetting little imperfection. Impurity must be destroyed.

Without thinking, Lucifer pulled the thread. A pleasant little ripping sound and there was a small hole in Sandalphon's tights. Skin, pale and beautiful. The Cupid didn't seem to notice, still deep in his thoughts. He crossed his legs in the other direction, hiding the small hole.

There was another piece of thread at his calf this time. It made Lucifer's fingers tingle. Off with that dreadful little thing! Rip! Lucifer sighed relieved. Order, purity, control. Praised be the Lord for this creation, and damned be He for everything else.

More and more threads were sticking out, and Lucifer plucked and plucked more holes. Lucifer was dirty, naughty, bad, and he couldn't stop. He was unraveling the strings binding Sandalphon with each tug. Away with restraint, entanglement. Away with order, chaos, destruction.

Lucifer froze as he reached the top of the thighs. He'd made a mess, ripped holes everywhere, pink, bound skin tangled between strings of brown thread. Sandalphon's cheeks had flushed, and he was looking at his legs as if he'd just noticed what happened.

Lucifer needed to find the last thread, but it was hiding from him. There was one left, one, naughty little rebel. He was staring between Sandalphon's legs, pushing his legs apart, feeling the pieces of bare skin under his hands. Suddenly, his face was between Sandalphon's thighs, softly squeezed, a boot pushing down between his wings. Praise the skies, he was in heaven again! The spot was soft, plump, feminine.

Lucifer woke up with a start. Mirin was sitting at his side, her eyes open and staring at him.

"Forgive me," she said. "Was the illusion perfect this time?" Her voice was trembling, and she seemed to be close to crying, probably feeling guilty.

Why? He'd enjoyed that dream very much, even disappointed to realize they hadn't won yet. Their battle to save Sandalphon hadn't even begun, and there were going to be many more hardships before they reached Etemenanki. Some heat rose to his ears, remembering what he'd done, but he couldn't hold back on smiling.

"C-could we do more of that, whatever it was, please?" Lucifer asked.

"E-Eeeeeh?!"

***

"We have to do it. You're a weight like this," Samael whispered to Egrigori.

He couldn't have refused her plan, even if he wanted to. Samael didn't care much for consent in such a dire situation. Mammon had given them the signal Mirin was ready for her task. Samael had doubted that stuck-up Succubus could do anything right, but they trusted the Glutton's judgment.

Mammon could weigh a heart in gold, and there was enough strength buried inside Mirin's body to serve them. There was enough of that Demonic instinct in her to be able of the best and the worst, and Mirin had to be capable of the worst to serve Lord Satan. Sahar was capable of anything, even dirty tricks in the dreamscape. They couldn't afford a handicap.

She and Egrigori were going lose their other companion's trust temporarily, but if they knew the duo's plan, it might slip out during their interrogatories. The guards had too many suspicions, and to deceive your enemy, you sometimes had to trick your friends first. Nobody had a plan to save Egrigori.

"A-at least make it a bit pleasurable," the Depraved said, licking his lips nervously.

"You'll like it whatever I do," she sneered.

"Are you sure I'll survive?" he asked, his voice trembling—the more terrified the meal, the tastier.

"I do, kind of. I'll know even better after dinner," Samael said, her serpent tongue flicking at his cheek, tasting his anxiety like she would a starter in a meal.

Probably in need of a sense of control on the situation, he pecked her on the lips. Quickly, almost shyly. His survival instincts were taking over, and he was feeling like prey. His body had become so tiny, so miserable and frail, it wasn't going to take long.

She coiled around him, allowing him to set his face between her small breasts. In his state, suffocation would have killed him. She was also still weak, still aching for a smoke, and sex and cuddles couldn't replace the Demon's Orchid.

"Would you become my mate once we're out?" he asked.

He gasped as she suddenly tensed up and nearly snapped his neck. Was this a moment for joking? "I fucking hate Seraphs, and you're a fucking Seraph," she hissed.

He kissed her breast without replying, and she felt like smashing him against the barriers. It could only be his nature as a demon, lying to her even at such a moment. She'd grown accustomed to feeling his body against hers, but that was it. There was absolutely nothing more between them.

"Have I embarrassed you?" he asked, sounding angelic and repentant. What kind of torment was this? Was this what made the whole ordeal pleasurable to him?

"Get the fuck into my stomach before I start vomiting," she replied, but he kept snug against her chest.

"Then become my mate, Sammy. I have fallen for you," the insolent fool said, daring to kiss her tenderly on the lips.

She felt like ripping his head off but kissed him back instead. He was going to change his mind as soon as they were free and throw her away as soon as he could. Samael wasn't any different from his other conquests, just food for the Depraved. She wouldn't have given a shit if he did. Still, like a stupid little girl, she hoped, she liked what he said, she imagined boasting about it. Egrigori, one of the most beautiful Fallen Angels, had asked to become her mate.

"Y-you're despicable…" she sobbed.

"Yes, I am. We both are."

***

The sound haunted Mirin for years later. In the darkness of the prison, she couldn't see what was happening, but she could imagine.

Samael and Egrigori had first started moving again and discussed in whispers for a long time. Mirin believed they were playing their sick games again as Samael coiled around the Seraph and squeezed him into moans. It wasn't the squelch of their kisses or the slapping of the sex they had following those shared secrets that traumatized her.

Lucifer was sitting, leaning against a wall, dissociative and silent from his recent session in the dungeon. He was looking in the same direction as her when the noise started, but he didn't seem aware of his surroundings, neither awake nor asleep. She couldn't ask him if she was having a terrible hallucination.

Samael would always call "Egrigori, Egrigori, do you see what I see?" and now, Mirin felt like asking Lucifer the same question.

There is something grotesque in seeing a gigantic snake open its mouth wide, and take an entire person in, head first. Mirin saw only silhouettes and shadows, but the sound told her what was happening. Samael was devouring Egrigori. Mammon couldn't see them well from where she sat, but was completely immobile and in a cold sweat, her ears wide open.

It went slowly, the monster swallowing the Seraph little by little, even his wings. The sounds that haunted her were those of spit leaking, of the snake's throat, spreading to accommodate an entire man, the swivel of Egrigori's limp wings against the floor. Samael was lying on her back, slowly swaying her hips and groaning.

Her breaths were labored, and she whispering something erratic, mad giggles escaping her throat at moments as she reached to push on the wall behind her, knocking another fist against the floor.

"E-egri… Grigo… W-what are you… Aaah!"

Egrigori's emaciated body entirely disappeared inside of the serpent, and Samael snapped her hips several times, moaning. Mirin was about to scream in horror but was covered by Samael's ecstatic moans. Then, the Nephilim was screaming, shrieking so loud the guards came running. She convulsed a few times and fell to the floor.

She'd stopped moving. One of the guards prodded at the snake, another tried slapping Samael.

"T-the serpent is… Dead?!" One of them cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3 I hope you're ok.
> 
> My fic account on Twitter is now @NanosFics


	18. Chapter 18

What do you do when, in the neighboring cell, a serpent you depended on to escape was either having a food coma from devouring her mate or dead from indigestion? All hope lost, if you can't afford panicking, you take a nap.

When you're a Succubus, though, sharing a nap with someone isn't safe. Mirin was making a terrible mistake, but comforting Lucifer by offering him beautiful dreams had become something of a habit. A bad habit, like smoking or drinking, except only Lucifer, was enduring the consequences; more exhaustion, less magic power, dissociation, and blackouts.

"Please, let me dream for a bit longer, Mirin," Lucifer had said.

It was hard to refuse his pleading puppy eyes. The person who assigned the cells must have guessed their relationship would turn out this way. He missed Sandalphon so much; even without being under a spell, he couldn't resist the temptation to use a substitute. She'd never disguised as Sandalphon again, but they both needed peace desperately.

"Lucifer, we have to—"

Thunder rumbled in the Elysian fields, covering her voice. She rolled her eyeballs. Typical Lucifer, trying to ignore what upset him, perhaps without even realizing he was behind that noise. His smile at her was so soft, she felt like moaning. He was trying everything for her to not wake him up.

"Please, Lucifer, I—"

He sat, his face near to hers, gazing down into her soul and dancing with her skipping heart. The devil held her hand. It was time to wake up, but what a time! How could she explain what Samael did to Egrigori to this innocent, magnificent, shining Seraph? She couldn't dirty the purity of his ears!

"You're blushing so much," Lucifer giggled, "I never saw Sandalphon blush like you, and I don't think he ever would."

"That's because I'm Mirin, not Sandalphon! We should stop this, or I'll suck you dry of your energy!"

"I wouldn't mind," he said, a bit of melancholy in his tone. "I'm tired, Mirin. Please, let me dream some more. What are the days here in reality? A few minutes?"

She wished she could give him that much. She'd already given him the Elysian fields, sculpted the blue flowers in the dreamscape because he loved them, let him sleep while their bodies wasted away.

"Come on, Mirin, I'm a feast to a Succubus. You know you want the same as me," he said.

Most Angels and Demons thought that way of Succubus. They saw them as beasts driven by their instincts, and not as people who could sincerely love. She cared for him, and Lucifer took her feelings lightly. That hurt.

She woke him up with a snap of her fingers.

***

Lucifer had been too self-absorbed to observe their surroundings and acknowledge they had more neighbors than he'd first estimated. What Samael and Egrigori had done had raised a few voices, and he became aware more than one person might have heard about their escape plan. He'd been careless.

They were Demons, individualists who acted only for self-gain. There was no cohesion between gangs, no alliances, just disorganized hordes following the strongest of the members of their various races. Fallen Angels, Nephilim, Imps, Djins, Orcs, to name a few, were separate tribes, sometimes rivaling for territory. He believed they respected only power, but they seemed more preoccupied with honor than he'd expected.

The Demons threw whatever they could through the bars at the inspector, called him a pervert for opening the dead snake's mouth, yelled and howled as he put his arm down its throat. On their floor, Lucifer identified about twenty different voices echoing in the darkness, some of which came from much larger beasts than them. They all seemed to respect Samael.

"You're committing profanity! How can you commit profanity? You're an Angel!" the neighbor to Mammon's cell barked.

Profanity? There were things sacred to Demons? That was paradoxical. They had pagan rites, and each race their strange traditions, but what was there sacred about devouring a mate? Was their act the part of a satanic ritual?

He couldn't hear what the inspector told the guardian chief and didn't know why they didn't take Samael with them. It looked like they'd left her corpse to rot if it was even a corpse. Mirin had been panicking, but Lucifer kept calm.

Two options were possible; either the couple had another plan in mind, or a sexual game of theirs had gone wrong. It would have been too stupid that they'd put their lives at risk for a final tryst, so close to their goal. If they had another plan, they might have intended to escape without Lucifer and Mirin. They had no reason to trust him or help him out, other than their shared desire for vengeance against Sahar.

"Mirin," Lucifer called, his voice raspy.

She ignored him. He'd been clumsy out of desperation, but this was no time for sulking.

"Mirin," he repeated, but it was no use.

"Lucifer," the Glutton chanted from her cell, which was becoming too small. "Apologizing would be a good idea now."

"I fail to understand," he said.

The Glutton sniggered.

"Oh, Lucifer, I think I see what kind of Demon you are becoming," that mass of lumps told him, and just for that moment, he despised her.

He hadn't changed, and he hadn't done anything wrong. He'd just been a little bit tempted and enjoyed playing with Mirin a tiny bit too much. They'd fallen into the prison's dynamics trap, but did he regret it? Not at all. He tried to ignore the Glutton.

"You've become a Demon of Pride. You asked Mirin to comfort you, and now you can't admit you pushed her to continue, because you're too damn proud," Mammon said.

"Mirin, I need one more thing, just one more," Lucifer pleaded.

"No more dreams," she grunted, folding her arms.

"I need an army," he said, and Mirin sighed so deeply, he felt ashamed.

"Gimme an army, babe," Mirin said in a deep voice, trying to imitate his, "Just a little army to have fun with the bros. I could give you a beer and a kiss if we were free, not an army!" She hissed, stomping her foot.

"Please listen to my idea. With Samael and Egrigori in this terrible shape, we need other allies," he said.

The struggle to convince Mirin was the hardest part of his plan, and once he'd convinced her, he felt like he could convince anyone.

***

She'd given in to Lucifer's request again, as impossible as it was. Mirin started wondering if she was working for him, and could demand a salary as a handyman. The things she did out of love!

Mirin needed recruiting advice. The positive thing about standing in front of the impenetrable barrier in Samael's head was that it proved she was still alive. The negative thing was everything else. Belial's avatar was waiting to see how she'd try to get to Samael this time, seeming mildly amused.

They were in a forest, dark and thick, menacing for some, comforting for others. A serpent might have appreciated the environment, with many places to hide and crawl. Mirin had to avoid analyzing her surroundings because the barrier could take her interpretation as an attempt to reach Samael.

"Say, Mirin, I'm starting to believe you have the hots for me, visiting so often," he said, his arms crossed.

"I'm not into just any type of man!" she snapped, remembering Lucifer's prejudice.

"Looks like you got the classical Succubus treatment," he sniggered.

"In fact, yeah, I did," Mirin said, "And it hurt a lot! It's a curse, not a choice!"

Belial's eyes narrowed at her confession. Mirin felt silly for opening up to someone's mental barrier. He was nothing more than a part of Samael's subconscious, a device for her defense, so why waste her time talking with him while she needed Samael's advice urgently?

To her surprise, he replied, "That sucks."

A barrier could empathize with someone? Usually, their replies were cryptical, nebulous at best. They only reacted to intrusions, aggression, and magic. This one, while his smile didn't reach his eyes, had replied empathetically.

"And some people only think about how to get rid of me," he said, bat-like wings spreading from his back.

He'd sensed her intent, and it was a matter of seconds before he threw her into a nightmare again. Forest nightmares were one of the most exhausting kind, and about anything could crawl out of the trees. Mirin hesitated if she should give up on trying to reach Samael, given she knew she was still alive. They had a plan in mind, but she couldn't see it, hidden by the forest.

"Yeah, and some people just use me to get to their ends! Lucifer asked me to recruit people to join his army, and I'm desperate! Only Sammy knows how to do that!"

"An army?" the barrier reacted again, his position straightening up, his shoulders looser and the aggression less palpable.

If she thought about how to suppress him again, he was going to throw her out. If she believed she'd found a manner to get around him, he'd attack. His reactions were interesting, but how far would that bring her? Short of other ideas, Mirin told him the entire situation.

"Sahar did that to Sandy?" Belial hummed, rubbing his chin.

Samael knew all of that, but that avatar, or whatever he was, didn't. The creepy sensation of talking to a completely different individual was nagging Mirin. What was she even facing? A dream? A memory? She started to believe he was still alive. Samael insisted he was dead, but what if she was wrong?

"Are you locked in Pandemonium too? Do you want to bust out with us?" Mirin tried.

Belial's grin reached his eyes. "That sounds fun."

***

"Man, this is weird," A reptilian humanoid croaked as a hundred Demons had reunited in the same dreamscape. It looked like an endless white space with only one throne on which Lucifer sat. Everyone else except Mirin was standing.

Mirin had managed to convince several Demons of the three first levels of Pandemonium to gather in the same dreamscape. She'd done an incredible job. It had taken a few days, and Lucifer was reaching his limit, but his physical state didn't affect his appearance in this dimension.

Mirin was seated exhausted next to Lucifer, using all of her strength to keep a hundred bridges standing between him and the attendees. If Mammon had given Mirin most of her magic power to enable the spell, she was spending all of it at lightning speed. Lucifer had to convince at least one person per cell to cooperate to create the desired chaos.

"Lucifer, why are you on a throne while we don't even have a seat?" A male Echidna as bony as Samael asked.

"Because this is my space, and I'm leading this pack," Lucifer replied, and it seemed enough an answer, at least for the nodding Orcs.

"He has the biggest, reddest horns," one of the brutes pointed out.

"Meh, they are just thicker than Egrigori's," another one noted, and a stupid debate broke out between the Orcs.

"What's in for us? If this fails, we're all going to die," a Harpy said, accompanied by two sisters before Lucifer even begun his presentation.

They were desperate enough to accept any plan blindly if it gave them a chance to be free. At this point, finding allies felt easy, too easy. They didn't trust him, but they believed they could take advantage of the chaos because he was capable of doing immense damage to the entire structure if he broke free.

"If our escape fails, the chances we all die are high indeed," Lucifer said, "I recognize there will be discrimination based on the value of each prisoner alive, and some will endure more torture instead of death."

He didn't say most of them probably had no value as prisoners and were bound to die. Some of them would become Mammon's next dinner. What was he even still worth alive, Lucifer wondered? For Arbiter's entertainment? No, it was to keep the Cupid under control.

Lucifer observed the cohort. Most of them seemed extremely weakened, and from the lower classes of Demons. None of them would have been very useful in battle, and even with the seals lifted, the soldiers could quickly kill that small-fry. The strongest had declined the invitation, and Mirin had risked her life approaching them, even in a dreamscape.

"If we manage to escape," Lucifer said, "I will lead you all to Etemenanki, and we'll unseal the Cataclysmic Angel who holds the power of the Blue Flames."

A short silence followed, and then, several burst into laughter.

"Us? A hundred insects against the Almighty? Are you nuts?" one of the Harpy sisters screeched in laughter.

"We won't be a hundred. We'll be tens of thousands by then," Lucifer said with such confidence, there was a moment of silent hesitation.

"Why should we even support a former Seraph? Samael and Egrigori are out of the picture, and my loyalty stands with them." A man with black hair and red eyes slinked out in front of the small crowd.

He'd remained withdrawn in the assembly until then, no horns or wings to show if he belonged to any race of Angel or Demon, only a long purple plume boa hanging on his shoulders, and a revealing shirt barely buttoned at his waist. Perhaps a Nephilim, or an Incubus, and he didn't seem weakened, even relaxed and confident.

"Lucifer, that's—" Mirin whispered, but Lucifer couldn't take time with her immediately.

"I have fallen, just like all of you. I can't hope for the Almighty's grace. Perhaps you have other options, but we have the common goal to escape. Do you prefer to keep bending your spine for the tormentors if you were left behind?"

"I don't mind bending over every now and then," the man shrugged, "But why should I risk my ass for you, who sent the strongest of us down here? It's no surprise neither Bubs nor Astarothe are here."

An approving cheer rose, the Demons seeming to remember Lucifer's responsibility in their misery, blinded by their greed until an analytical mind joined them. Lucifer had sent most of the inmates into that prison, without knowing about its existence. To him, they were dead from the moment they were out of his hands. Now, he needed them and was pleading for their help.

"Duel me once we're free if you desire vengeance. Unlike Lord Satan, who doesn't know how to harness the power of the Blue Flames, I already have its vessel on my side," Lucifer said, not losing his calm.

"A duel sounds sexy, but you can't control the vessel," the man retorted. "Total destruction isn't in every Demon's interest either. Some of us wish to rule the three worlds."

"Everyone wants something different, but what we need right now is a unity to escape. We aren't even out of prison yet, but I swear on my honor, my ambition will last beyond our success and beyond challenging the Almighty."

Whispers rose, the three sisters eyeing the dark man with a strange glint in their eyes.

The stranger clicked his tongue and shook his head. "Lucifer, all I aspire to is some fun," he said, "And unity sounds so boring, it's so predictable… Plus, I could make the entire prison pop if I wanted to on my own. I don't need you. The ninth circle doesn't need you either. Why would we escape with you, rather than one of our true allies?"

He sounded confident of his powers, but strangely, Lucifer couldn't sense a powerful aura coming from that man. In fact, he didn't have one, just something like a hint of magic power. Perhaps he was pretending he was the strongest of the bunch. While his outfit left only little to the imagination, he didn't even have the decency to show his horns, a mark of honor for a Fallen Angel, something like a battle scar.

"Is there anything that could convince you to help us escape?" Lucifer asked, "Who sent you to talk with us, given you seem comfortable in your cell and have nothing to gain from me?"

The stranger's sneer became toothy, and he laughed. "There is! If you help my Messiah retrieve his legacy, I will do anything, absolutely aaanyything," he chanted, lifting his hands to the air as if he were talking of the Almighty.

Mirin's eyes widened, and she was agape as if she'd realized something shocking. What was going through her head?

"I will give you what you want if you help me," Lucifer promised, ignoring Mirin's cold hand shaking his arm. She was panicking for some reason.

"Is that a promise? Can I take a Demon's word?" the man asked, stretching out a hand.

"No, Lucifer, no!" Mirin suddenly yelped, and the Nephilim frowned at her. "That man is Belial! Do you understand what your promise would mean? He's speaking of taking Eve's legacy from you!"

The whispers had turned into surprised, shocked cries.

"Belial? Samael's brother's alive?! He's been here all that time?! Preposterous!" some of them cried, but Belial kept his head high, indifferent to their surprise.

Lucifer had an epiphany. Bless Mirin, she'd given him a clue how to convince that Nephilim. Had Belial survived decapitation and been sent into Pandemonium? Did that mean Eve was there as well? No, it was impossible, and something seemed off about that man, or rather, absent.

Belial pursed his lips and put his hands into his pockets. "If you can't sacrifice one insignificant Cupid, you won't ever defeat the Almighty. My Messiah is different; He would destroy everything without hesitation."

Potential allies were already turning their backs on Lucifer, but he had a chance at gaining everyone at once. While Lucifer didn't know about what happened between Belial and Eve privately, he'd heard how the former Deputy Head chief had led the High Council around and corrupted Eve.

"What's the fun in complete annihilation? You're contradicting yourself. Why would you serve the interests of someone with such a predictable motive?"

Belial didn't need one second of thought and replied, "Love is a mass of contradictions."

"You considered the possible outcomes before joining us, Belial," Lucifer said, holding back a smile at his dishonest reply. "Only the Almighty or Eve could free the vessel from the curse. One or both of them are bound to show up at his awakening, and the showdown will be magistral. How about waking him up and see what happens?"

If the tales were true, Belial helped his enemies to ensure their failure, while also giving them a high chance to succeed. He'd put a small item, or a person in the way which would ruin their meticulously planned schemes. The outcome always ended in his favor. Even though he seemed to conspire with his victims against the High Council, he couldn't be considered a traitor because he sabotaged their plans. Such underhanded methods weren't welcome in Heaven but tolerated for the sake of weeding out the High Council.

Belial's only real contradiction was his need to prove himself that he had complete control by raising his chances to fail. His pleasure was confirmation. Something must have gone wrong in his gamble with Eve, or precisely the way he'd predicted, and Sandalphon was born.

Only Samael had survived his fight with Sahar to confirm the Speaker had executed him on the spot. Accused of rebellion at Belial's side, the High Council had sent her to her first journey in Pandemonium. Now Lucifer believed it was to keep her silent. They'd driven her insane in prison through torture, and now that memory was locked somewhere deep in her unconscious.

The Demon's shoulders were shaking with laughter. "Ah, I'm shivering, I feel like I could pop! That's not a plan, that's suicide! Yeah, I'm totally into it!"

With Belial, the majority of the intellectual Demons who had observed and understood Lucifer's arguments agreed to follow. They could gain their freedom, and anything after that was up to their choices. Others, like the Orcs, just accepted because Lucifer had big horns or because they enjoyed blood, chaos, and destruction. Everyone had their own motives, but he'd managed to create a collective agreement.

Lucifer was going to find a way to break the prison's seals on the way out, and open the cells of his allies. If he failed, they risked nothing, but once they were loose, they must follow the plan to escape.

The stronger Demons were bound to break out with the smaller fry and create their own chaos. They weren't going to listen to Lucifer, but that didn't mean they would stay seated in their cells while their cronies were escaping. If they saw the battle was turning in their favor, then Lucifer had a chance at recruiting the strongest of them in one go.

"Looking forward to the climax," Belial said, disappearing in the nebula of the shattering dream.

***

Lucifer and Mirin woke up from the reunion, and Lucifer's first question was;

"Is Belial alive?"

Mirin seemed to hesitate. "That entity didn't have any lifeforce. I thought it was just a barrier, but somehow," she stopped, shaking her head in confusion. "It followed me."

She lifted her head, beaming at Lucifer, proud of her feat. "I deserve a big reward for my hard work!"

Belial could have been a helpful or troublesome ally. Neither of them was sure if he was dead or alive anymore. Perhaps it was something similar to the seed Eve had left behind. Some memories were so powerful, they could take a life of their own in a dreamscape. A magical bond could remain forever, celestial beings keep existing inside the heart of their loved ones.

"But then, what's happening to Samael?" Lucifer asked, ignoring her request for the moment, peering through the darkness of the neighboring cell.

"He wouldn't let me at her," Mirin said, puffing her cheeks and looking away.

Noticing her irritation, Lucifer decided to once, just once and just for her, to make an exception. She was the only person who deserved such an honor. He took her puffed cheeks between his fingers, pushed the air out of them, leaned down, and whispered something into her ear.

This close and shining as he did, he could see a delighted blush creep up her cheeks, and her eyes twinkle with glee. He wouldn't tell anyone what he admitted, and nobody else than she should know, but it seemed to be enough for her. The air slightly stirred, and Lucifer felt the hair raise in the back of his neck. What was that terrifying power?

"Then, what if Belial is alive? Should I try finding him?" Mirin asked, too distracted and excited to even notice the growing waves of magic power.

"B-Belial's dead," Samael wheezed from the neighboring cell.

The only thing that would rouse her, even dead, was her brother's name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I don't usually talk much about myself on my ending notes. Still, the current situation and its consequences on my writing give me the impression this time writing about it is necessary. 
> 
> First of all, the Lucio/Sandalphon tag as main has disappeared. I'd expected more opportunities to show them in a positive light, but Sahar turned into the main antagonist of this story. Their dynamic will still evolve, but it isn't on main anymore. I hoped to deliver a happier couple first but found Sahar's development more attractive as an antagonist. The focus went on Lucifer while Sahar kept absent.
> 
> I've been through a lot of personal things recently, some heartbreaking, and it has affected what I consider to be the quality of my fics. They've taken a darker tone, and I feel like I might have overdone it. It's reduced the quality of what I write in my eyes. Also, the confinement and the lack of social/professional outings have pushed me to spend hours on my phone and computer, to the point I've injured my wrist and can't draw anymore. 
> 
> My creativity suffered; my mental health took a toll, and writing a long fic in these conditions is challenging. Also, arguments with my former crew have ruined a part of my fandom experience, and I feel like it put a distance between me and my fics. Associating characters with a bunch of self-centered people is the worst thing that can happen to a fan. I was grateful to that team for some time, but then competitivity (GW quota and tier A ambitions) came to ruin everything, and it wasn't a fun game anymore.
> 
> I will finish this fic and Beast & Sandalphon because I'd have a feeling of unfulfillment and complete loss if I don't. This year is still worthwhile if Sandalphon and Lucifer can have a happy ending. I will work with care and love and continue publishing the chapters of these the way I always do. If I write anything else for this fandom, I'll post only once I've finished writing the entire fic. A fic this length takes me between eight months and a year of work. Therefore, if you love my fics but are not an AO3 regular checking the tag, I recommend you subscribe to my channel by clicking on my pseudonym.
> 
> If you want updates on the writing status, art, and extracts of future works, you can follow me on NanosFics on Twitter. 
> 
> Thank you, especially to Nadejdaro, Lucille, and Pennameisblank, for the continued support. It means the world to me.


	19. Chapter 19

The wave of magic power which had rocked the entire floor of Pandemonium’s sixth level receded as quickly as it had surged. A cocky strand of silver hair stood at the top of Samael’s head, risen from death as if it had been nothing more than a long nap.

“Belial is dead,” Samael repeated.

Mirin threw her hands into the air, “You were dead a few minutes ago!”

“I was having a hard time digesting,” Samael retorted, “Try to eat a man bigger than you.”

“It’s not so hard, actually!” Mammon quipped from her cell, waving to Samael.

Samael failed at her attempt to roll onto her side to face her neighbors, the serpent at her end still apparently dead. She twisted and shook her hips, but it wouldn’t move. Its long, slit tongue had been hanging out of its open mouth ever since the inspector last tried to extract Egrigori’s body and failed.

It wasn’t long before the gate to their level creaked open, and several guards came marching through the corridor.

“Lucifer,” Samael whispered, “We’re leaving now.”

“What do you—”

One of the guards pushed a spear between the bars and planted the tip of the snake’s right eye. It popped, but Samael didn’t flinch. Another guard checked the state of the magical seal on the cell. Once that secured, they used another spear to lock Samael’s neck to the ground, and as an additional measure, bound the dead snake’s mouth.

Three to handle one defenseless injured Demon with a containment collar was plenty enough, even zealous. The snake wasn’t a serious threat to anyone else than the mate who had crawled into her stomach.

“Snake, did you cause the alarm to activate?” The guard stood his feet to the sides of Samael’s head. His colleague locked the cell with the three men surrounding her for questioning.

“Oh, come on, I just got over a food coma,” she said, “I dunno what you’re talking about. Hey, maybe ask my mate, huh?”

The three men looked over to her stomach, and one of them snorted in disgust. Precautious, with one securing Samael and another to back him up, the Nephilim took a blade and kneeled, ready to cut the lump open.

A flash of light. The guard’s heads went flying, slamming against the bars and walls. The alarm went off again, howling through the corridors. Egrigori was facing Lucifer, covered in digestive fluids, and splattered in their blood. A red burn mark slowly disappeared from around his white neck. His containment collar had disappeared, digested.

Samael slipped out of the remains of the snake as if it were no more than a skirt. Her legs were long, thin, and white. She had turned away from Lucifer, and Egrigori handed her clothes he pulled off a guard’s body. He had to push them into her arms as she kept staring at her dead half on the verge of tears. Quickly clothed, she took the monster’s head and kissed it goodbye.

In a burst of rage, Samael suddenly kicked into the door of Lucifer’s and Mirin’s cell, swore and hissed, jumping on one foot, the metal on her stolen boot clanking with each hop. Egrigori laughed at her, insulted in return. The darkness in her expression lifted a bit.

Egrigori broke the seal and kicked the gate, sending it flying through two cells and slamming against a stone wall. The neighbors were quick to scurry out and then stopped once outside, holding their collars, glancing left and right anxiously as they felt guards approaching.

“I’m leaving! Good luck, guys!” Mammon chanted, skipping away and opening a few cells on the way, picking up a squeaking Gremlin. It shrieked and disappeared with her at the turn of the corridor.

“Get us out, get us out!” Other inmates had started shouting, rattling their bars.

Egrigori broke Mirin’s and Lucifer’s collars. Their powers slowly returning, Mirin squealed in delight and fluttered out of the cell. Samael and Egrigori were already hurrying off, but Lucifer had a promise to keep.

“What about Belial?” Lucifer called, the first guards already pooling in. He hadn’t entirely restored his powers, and Arbiter’s curse still hurt. Even so, the troops had taken too much time to come. Something outside must have been busying most of their forces if it wasn’t Mammon.

“Dead, I told you, dead!” Samael snapped. “Gotta go save someone downstairs?”

Lucifer acquiesced, and she groaned, lifting her fists, punching an assailant out of the way. All that effort just to get into more trouble, she must have been thinking.

“Mirin, you’re coming up with Mammon and me. Egrigori, give Lucifer a hand, okay? Follow the track of blood and heads when you come up.”

“You can barely stand, and you can’t fly,” Egrigori replied, “They’ll get you at the turn of a corner.”

“Then come and save me,” she snorted, “How many times I have saved _your_ ass?”

Egrigori wouldn’t satisfy her with a reply, but put a hand onto Lucifer’s shoulder and said;

“Down we go.”

***

“Erm, that way, I think!” Samael said, before turning into the opposing direction, mumbling curses to herself, trying to flee an entire squadron of Nephilim whose livelihood depended on their misery.

Mammon had disappeared, and not even given them an advantage by devouring a few pesky soldiers. Whatever route she’d taken was different, and she hadn’t left anything of her squirmy green snack behind. They avoided their pursuers when they could, hiding in the gaps of the porous limestone walls. Only now, Mirin realized they were in a sort of underground mine, with tunnels, paths, and open caverns with stalactites and stalagmites on the way.

“Are you sure you remember the way?” Mirin asked.

Samael shrugged, dodging an arrow. “Myeah. Did you do your part of the plan?”

“You fooled me with your stunt. I thought you died of cannibalistic edge play.” Mirin tried to stay behind her, but could still throw a punch or two fireballs.

Samael cackled, breaking a neck. That woman was terrifying, incredible, casually killing men while taking a joke. She didn’t show one bit of her exhaustion, but was still shaky on her legs, stumbling on occasion.

Mirin admired the genius of her plan. Magic couldn’t destroy containment collars, but the snake’s stomach acids could. Meanwhile, Samael went into hibernation, slept over the gravest drug withdrawal symptoms, and freed Egrigori. He recovered entirely by consuming her powers, but it cost the snake its life. She’d sacrificed half of herself to save them all.

“Lord Samael!” a Minotaur roared from its cell, and she stopped in her tracks.

“Asterion!”

Samael broke the seal and stumbled on her legs, before falling on her behind, groaning. The gigantic bull-headed monster leaned down to her, its nostrils flaring as he noticed she had a pair of legs, and the serpent was gone.

“Carry me,” Samael ordered, and without waiting for his approval, crawled onto him and mounted his shoulders as she would a horse’s back.

The proud beast mooed, offended to be mounted so casually. He didn’t have much time to complain. A porcupine of spears came charging from a narrow passage, and something clicked at the Minotaur’s neck. Iron brittles fell from Samael’s hand, his collar gone.

“Behind me, Succubus,” Asterion said, scratching one of his hooves against the floor.

He roared, and as if blown by a powerful gust of wind, a few spears lifted. That was enough to give him an opening. Mirin flew behind him as guards snapped in half or slammed against the ceiling at his beastly charge, stomped by his mighty hooves and pierced by his horns. Samael was laughing like a child on a merry-go-round.

“To be so healthy, they caught you recently, haven’t they?” Samael asked, snatching a spear.

“Aye, no later than yesterday. Caught plenty of us in a battle, Azazel leading us,” he said, and Samael’s grip must have tightened because he grunted.

“ _Lord_ Azazel?” she roared, “Is that traitor here?”

“Traitor? Nay. I believe he’s still fightin’ in the mournin’ fields.”

“For what? For a raise?” she scoffed.

“He’s been tryn’ ta bring Pandemonium down for years. Gon’ insane about some Lucifer. T’was ’bout as bad as the Holy Grail’s expedition. Tend ta believe Lord Satan’s lost it too, goin’ on about some Blue Fire or dunno what.”

“How many people here wanna kill good old Azzie?”

“I’d give him a stompin’ for the questioning I, proud Captain of the first infantry of Lord Satan, have endured,” the beast grunted, mist blowing out of its nostrils.

The air had become colder. They’d arrived in a tall cavern with a pit and a long bridge leading to a large white platform that served as an elevator. The air around the trio buzzed, and Asterion stopped his insane race.

Suddenly, the Minotaur jumped to his stomach, pulling Mirin down with him. A ray of light shrieked over their heads, and a portion of the stone wall exploded. Mirin looked behind her; the way they’d come from was blocked with boulders.

“You, bitch!” Samael yelled, and looking in front of them, Mirin felt as if their lives were over;

Sided by Paladins and Holy Knights of the Highest Guard, stood Arbiter Mortis holding her scepter, unperturbed, and as icy as the lake Cocytus.

“Oopsie, I kinda expected this,” they heard, just behind them. Mammon was standing there, her snack gone.

***

Lucifer was surrounded by old enemies. Each cell, if those forcefields could be described as such, contained the worst Demons of Hell. He’d fought his way down almost to exhaustion and realized Arbiter hadn’t locked him inside the lowest tier, an insult to his pride. His cute little cell seemed humane and social, compared to this void. They’d stepped into a different dimension when crossing the entrance gate.

Behemoth was as tall as a mountain, far away, its shape outlined by the blue light of the field generator’s electricity. Its heavy breaths rumbled like distant thunder as its red eyes seemed to follow the former Seraph. Agni’s body of fire crackled, shedding light around him while floating in the void. There were many more Lucifer couldn’t see in the darkness, only paths of glowing light crossing the areas.

“I’m staying at the entrance here,” Egrigori said, “Archangel Metatron guards these Demons, and I won’t fight him if he appears. Belial isn’t worth my life.”

Lucifer was already thankful for how far Egrigori had followed him. They’d passed level by level, cell by cell, but no sign of Belial or a more valuable ally than threatening enemy. The smaller fry he’d freed on the way all hurried up, and none had followed them to help. He’d arrived in what he felt to be the center of the maze-like floor. All glowing eyes, small and gigantic, were on him. They couldn’t break out on their own.

“I seek Belial,” Lucifer called, his voice echoing back.

One of the Demons giggled. They looked like a petite brown woman, floating upside-down, the blue lights of the generators glowing on their pale face and demented grin.

“Oh Bubs, a cute little angel’s looking for your dear friend,” they said, their voice as deep as the darkness.

“Quit the crap, Astarothe, that’s Arch Seraph Lucifer. Can’t believe it; that bastard still sparkles, even fallen.”

The unknown Demon flew towards the edge of its area to encounter Lucifer and peered at him with his beady black eyes, the electricity glowing blue below his fat, furry belly.

“What are you waiting for, fool, free us if you are one of us now,” Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies and Ruler of the House of Pride, spat at his former enemy.

They had met and fought long ago. All of these centuries, Lucifer had believed him dead. Beelzebub was here, at the side of Satan’s long-lost spouse. Astaroth was once the Great Duke of Cocytus, reduced to the shape of a small female with long black hair. Lucifer couldn’t sense their immense power through the forcefield.

“I will try to break the generator, if you tell me where I can find Belial,” Lucifer said, aware of Beelzebub’s value as an ally.

That monster could kill him, betray him before he even fled Pandemonium, and he had plenty of reasons to never help Lucifer. Still, he was someone who could be negotiated with, a power-hungry Demon who got easily tricked through his pride. If Lucifer had something of value enough to flaunt, he’d at least consider.

“Eve took what remained of him when the Almighty banished them from this world, didn’t you know?” Beelzebub replied. Now Lucifer had a confirmation Eve was still alive, somewhere else.

“I only know the vessel born from their sin,” Lucifer said, and he caught their complete attention. Astaroth approached.

“You know the Divergence?” she asked, her eyes wide and arms open as if to hug him, “The Arch Seraph is the rebellious son from the prophecy?”

“His name is Sandalphon. The splinters of his Cupid arrow struck us both during an incident long ago. Helel ben Sahar sealed him in Etemenanki, and Arbiter used our love to disgrace me. I will free him and destroy the tower, no matter whatever prophecy.”

“I ambition to rule the world with the Blue Flames,” Beelzebub warned.

“His power and this world mean nothing to me,” Lucifer said.

“How amusing!” Astaroth cried, “A Seraph as pure as you, fallen in love Eve’s calamitous legacy? I can sense your rage, your pain, your hatred. It’s delightful! I shall give you my assistance, so the dark side of the prophecy come true,” she said.

“Will you tell me everything about that prophecy?” Lucifer asked, and she bowed in a vow, for whatever that was worth for her.

Lucifer knew freeing her was a mistake he’d later regret. Beelzebub was going betray him, and Behemoth was going cause many more massacres amongst innocent humans. Astaroth was right on something about him; he was desperate enough to sacrifice the world to satisfy his selfish desire.

He’d become a Demon and was furious enough to destroy God.

***

Arbiter suddenly flinched and cried, “Why, Lord Metatron?! Why aren’t you stopping them?! Astaroth, you’re allowing Astarothe to escape!”

The earth beneath them began shaking.

“Retreat,” Arbiter shouted to her soldiers, all of her icy calm gone, “Lord Almighty, what have we done?! Is this part of your grand scheme?”

Then she became livid, her grip tightening on her staff. “Sahar! It’s Sahar that meddling—”

Suddenly, a wall blast open, light shedding in from above. Arbiter only had the time to lift her staff when a sword fell on it in a mighty blow. Mirin didn’t know that voice or the man with the four black horns, and the hole closed by a lock on his chest. Samael suddenly leaped against him, drawing a sword.

“What are you doing, dipshit?! Arbiter, get Arbiter!” the man spat, Samael yelling hysterically while trying to kill their ally.

Their scuffle left an opening for Arbiter to flee, carried away by one of her bodyguards. Mirin couldn’t do anything about the Speaker, and she felt the hair on her neck raise. Something big was coming their way, slowly walking up the stairs from the bottom of Pandemonium.

“You traitor, you sleazebag, you upstart!” Samael yelled between strikes until he kicked her full-force in the stomach. She gasped and stumbled back, curling into her knees.

Another yell and Azazel went flying, punched in the jaw by Egrigori’s gauntlet.

Egrigori was enraged. He grabbed the man by the back of his collar and turned him around, ready to punch him a few more times. Azazel was too stunned and dizzy to react.

“Don’t you dare hit my wife!” he yelled, unlike his usual collected self.

“Y-your wha— Your _wife_ tried to kill me!”

“Good! I’ll help her, you traitor!” Egrigori was pulling back for another punch, but someone grabbed his wrist.

Lucifer was standing behind him, his expression stern. Mirin had been so distracted by their fight, she hadn’t realized the crowd that had gathered and was filling the entire cavern. Fallen Angels had flown down the gap Azazel opened, and some of them stood behind their leader. They seemed confused, some of them calling Egrigori or Samael.

As soon as Egrigori was distracted by their calls, Azazel punched him in the face so hard he fell on his behind. Their personal scuffle had become something about defending their honor in front of their troops. The two men glared at each other in the total silence and under hundreds of eyes, ready to knock each other out to prove they were the strongest. Azazel was about to charge again when Lucifer whacked the back of his head with a shoulder-plate.

“That’s enough,” Lucifer said, his voice singsong as if grounding two little children. The tone was so surprising, coming from the Seraph they knew, that they were struck silent.

“Lucifer, I—” Azazel began.

“Shh,” Lucifer hushed him, a little smile on his lips and his authority on Azazel absolute.

A petite woman with black hair had skipped out through the same hole as Lucifer. A gigantic bug followed her, grunted at the scene, and left through the open, shining gap towards freedom, not looking behind.

“Is there perhaps an army of Angels waiting to kill us outside?” Lucifer asked gently.

“Michael’s troops couldn’t stop us all. They must have retreated with Arbiter for some reason,” Azazel replied, his voice low, but a small smirk showing some of his pride.

“Us all?” Lucifer asked, bemused.

“Lord Satan is waiting outside with his army and our allies. With luck, they’ll catch Arbiter. We’ve been fighting for years to reach this place,” Azazel said, and added, whispering, “Our Lord just needed extra motivation to get _you_ out. You’ve been a huge pain in the ass for him, you know?”

“You’ve been fighting for years to free me?” Lucifer asked. Concern appeared on his face, and Azazel scratched the back of his neck, grimacing.

It was striking how differently Lucifer acted around Azazel. He seemed delighted, his voice far from the husky growl she’d grown accustomed to in prison. Azazel was putting on a strong front, but Mirin, as a Succubus, could sense what remained of his heart was pounding, perhaps with excitement or joy.

So, Lucifer had someone else than Sandalphon? Interesting, perhaps somewhat infuriating after what they went through. Samael stood half-agape, half in Egrigori’s arms, and Egrigori seemed so tired he couldn’t care less about what happened next. He just wanted to go home, drink, and forget, a desire easy to read.

“Uh oh, I see someone is an epicurean,” Mammon giggled, but Lucifer didn’t seem to understand what she meant or hear her, too taken by admiring Azazel’s new set of large jet-black horns.

“Er, I have, yes, but it’s just because of a prophecy, huh, and destroying Pandemonium was a project ever since they caught Lord Astaroth! Don’t get the wrong idea! It wasn’t for you!” Azazel snapped, and Lucifer beamed at him.

“I’ll have to speak a few words with my husband if I, the Duke, wasn’t the top priority in this rescue mission,” the little brunette said, and if Azazel could become any paler, he did, and purple too.

“Your Highness!” he gasped, only then noticing their presence.

He threw himself to the ground, sputtering apologies more offensive than serving his case. They completely ignored him, stepping over his head and going towards the fallen Seraph.

“Lucifer, my dear, what will you do now?” Astaroth asked, their mannerism feminine and dainty around the radiant Seraph.

“I wish to learn everything about the prophecy the Gods kept hidden from the Angels,” Lucifer replied, not even allowing himself some rest.

Black dragon-like wings appeared on their back. “I will tell you absolutely everything from the comfort of my chambers,” they said, “Whether Satan agrees or not. It’s his little punishment for neglecting their spouse for centuries.”

Lucifer’s smile at them was different from the one directed at Azazel. It seemed a bit forced, but he agreed nonetheless. They seemed satisfied with that much of a reaction.

Azazel wobbled, standing up but kept his eyes on the floor. Astaroth had just snatched a still oblivious Lucifer or was he, from under his nose. Mirin was almost sorry for poor Azzie, but more importantly, felt like the Seraph was out of their reach again. She was just a meaningless Succubus to everyone else than him. Nobles weren’t going to celebrate her contribution.

A hand settled on each of her shoulders. One belonged to Samael, the other to Mammon. “Forget ambitious men, they’re trash,” Samael said, ignoring Egrigori, a group of other Fallen Angels had already carried away like a hero.

“Yeah, have cake with us,” Mammon offered, licking her lips in expectation.

“And a lot of booze, some real, good smokes, not Pandemonium’s trash,” Samael added.

“Aren’t you staying clean after such a horrible withdrawal?” Mirin asked.

“Like Hell, I’m not! You think Egrigori’s gonna keep his word and marry me? Pah! The prison drove him insane. Look, he’s already found his frat boys, and off he goes with them.”

She chewed her lower lip and looked down. Mirin hadn’t imagined she had such insecurities, even knowing her fear of abandonment. Whatever she said, Egrigori was not lying, not once, and Mirin was sure of that. Samael put her arm around Mirin’s shoulders.

“We did great, didn’t we?” Mammon chirped.

Mirin’s heart warmed up instantly, and suddenly, she felt like crying in relief. At last, they were free, they could celebrate as friends. Her nasty vices and the Fallen Angel’s curse may catch up with her, but she had more friends than ever in Heaven. Even if it was from afar, she’d keep supporting Lucifer and help him save Sandalphon.

Sweet sunlight hitting her face for the first time in years, Mirin realized the extent of the battle’s devastation. Towering over heaps of Demon’s and Nephilim’s remains stood Satan, as tall as a mountain, shining Lucifer on the palm of his hand. The surviving troops were cheering.

She discovered the price of their freedom, and this was only the beginning. Fate have mercy on innocent Sandalphon; she didn’t want him to wake up to such a massacre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter of this arc to go. Then we get back to Sandalphon and Sahar.  
> Regular updates on Twitter @NanosFics


	20. Chapter 20

When an uninvited visitor appeared in Sandalphon's Dreamscape, he was more than a little bit surprised.

An idea, desire, or thought could take shape independently of the resident's will in that dimension. He'd experienced an avatar of Sahar crawling ominously out of a well, a gigantic flower growing on his house's roof, the sky taking a rainbow of colors, but this person seemed too real to be part of his imaginary. It meant they had to build a bridge to his mind, like telepathy, so their visit was no coincidence.

Even as pretty as she was with her long silver hair and green eyes, that woman was out of place in his small garden. He'd resorted to modest projects, little areas he could stabilize, and wouldn't suffer from parasitical thoughts. It was his private bubble. Not even Sahar could enter uninvited, but there she stood, and he was a bit afraid.

"Who are you?" he asked gruffly.

She smiled at him and suddenly sighed in relief. "The connection was a success," she said as if someone else were listening, and then she bowed down to him.

"My name is Magisa. Forgive me if I've startled you. I am unwelcome to Sahar, so my visit will be short."

Sandalphon chuckled. While the concept of having someone else in his head was rather worrying, this was nothing more than a dream. She could lead him through his worst nightmares for what would feel like centuries, but it wouldn't have done a thing to his body. His mind was in shambles anyway, and he was only the peaceful part of himself. The angry part of himself could show up anytime and attack the intruder.

"Then you're welcome to me. Care for a coffee, Miss Magisa?" he asked, "I forgot how it tastes, though."

He'd resolved himself to stay in this Dreamscape until the end of his life. The only thing he could do was at least be kind to a stranger. It was going to feel like centuries until Sahar visited again, even if it was only a few hours or days outside. Lucifer couldn't reach him anymore, no matter how much Sandalphon wanted to see him again. No avatar Sandalphon created could equal a free mind, always only pleasing him and doing whatever he wanted.

"I'm afraid I won't have the time," she said, "It won't be long before the Speaker notices my presence."

"I'm not sure my entirety will remember anything of what you tell me if my parts come together again. You may not have noticed, but I've lost my mind. My personality has split into pieces, and you're lucky enough you didn't find the angry me." He shrugged dismissively, content to float because he liked the weightless sensation of sitting onto nothing.

"I would like you to not give up," she said.

Not give up? He'd tried, he'd struggled to the point he tore apart. Whatever she told him might not reach the others if they didn't like whatever she had to say. Not give up was like calling in the anger, and he didn't want that man thrashing his flower pots again.

"This is my punishment," he said, "for having sinned, and for my terrible sins to come. Lucifer has gone insane by my fault and fallen. Civil wars have begun in the three worlds in my name. Are you one of those who want my power?" he asked.

Magisa shook her head and took his hands into hers. He could feel kindness and warmth. There were many people behind her, sitting in a prayer circle somewhere deep in a forest. She'd given him a glimpse of what was happening where she was, and what responsibility she carried.

"I am a witch part of the Order of the Beast, but we pray for you, not for your power or the Lord's mercy. Please, consider what you'd want most if you were free, and I'll do all in my power to make your sacrifice worthwhile."

Before Sandalphon could ask her if there was a catch, what she meant by sacrifice, if there was any price to said freedom, she was flaunting in front of his nose, she disappeared.

He felt Sahar's bridge open. The "solace" his masochistic part unaware of Magisa's visit could take care of Sahar, Sandalphon thought, returning to tend to his flowers. He'd found his way to keep secrets.

***

For lack of a mouth or face, Satan's grinned with his yellow eyes as he looked down at the teeny-weenie tiny Lucifer sparkling in his hand. He felt like rubbing his thumb between the red spiky horns of the pesky Seraph, who had beaten half of his best Generals.

They'd talked for a while, and he couldn't stay angry at that guy. War could wait a bit, couldn't it? No, Lucifer wanted to unseal Sandalphon as fast as possible, and it was his only condition to not threaten the King of Demons. As if he were still anything of a threat without an army or Michael to back him up!

Even as puny and insignificant as the Seraph was on his own, Satan didn't need such a wrathful and potentially useful ally as his enemy. He could have crushed Lucifer right there and then inside of his fist, but he stood so unafraid, so arrogant, Satan couldn't help but feel amused.

He'd listened attentively to the Seraph's story about Sandalphon, how he fell from grace, how Arbiter treated Fallen Angels, how corrupt Heaven had become in the Almighty's absence. None of it surprised him. Satan was behind some of the corruption, but a lot of it was due to the High Council's incompetence and bigotry. Helel ben Sahar was nothing more than a tool, uninterested and unaware of most of their failures. Satan didn't even believe he was aware of the torture in Pandemonium.

"You've got some mighty Fallen Angels in your pocket, alright, but my hordes won't be swayed by your current reputation. Given you're in such a hurry, would you be satisfied with following Beelzebub's lead to Etemenanki?"

The Gods could shoot themselves in the foot with Eve's legacy. It didn't matter to Satan. The only reason he'd launched that raid against Pandemonium was to take over a part of the lowest earth of Assiah, where the Nephilim dwelled. It was their most significant victory in centuries, just what he needed to justify the upcoming war on Heaven and his right on the Blue Flames.

Pandemonium was in their hands. Arbiter had abandoned the Nephilim when their protector, Metatron, didn't show up. They could serve as good slaves, canon powder for the front lines. The raid on Pandemonium was a complete win for him, as long as Lucifer didn't rebel, and Astaroth didn't meddle in his affairs.

"No, I won't follow Beelzebub," Lucifer replied, "I want my own army."

He wasn't going to succeed, too righteous and pure to appeal to most Demons. Fallen Angels were a different race with their own culture and values, but they were a minority compared to the many other beasts who responded to Satan. Lucifer had more enemies than friends in Cocytus.

"You'll have to bring several rivaling tribes together. Fallen Angels alone aren't enough to threaten Helel Ben Sahar and the Almighty."

A few tribes still resisted Satan's influence, and civil wars nagged him occasionally. Lucifer could serve as a unifier and throw himself into the hopeless quest of saving the Divergent. Meanwhile, Satan had plans of his own concerning Sandalphon and Sahar.

"I will build Hell's greatest army," Lucifer said, "And I'll steal your Generals if you get in my way."

Said like a real Demon.

***

The military procession back to Cocytus was grandiose. Flying ships by hundreds flew like a gigantic murder of crows in the skies, returning to the portal in the mountains of Helheim. Warships, prison ships loomed behind the King's Leviathan, a diamond-shaped vessel as tall and broad as a fortress. Carried by an entire cargo squadron, Pandemonium, dug out by Behemoth in one piece, cast its shadow over the farmlands. Boulders of limestone detached from the structure, blowing craters in the fields below. The monster followed them, each of its steps an earthquake, leaving desolation in its path.

The warriors riding wyverns and the winged beasts outside cheered chanted Satan's name, their roars heard all the way to Mistarcia's capital. Wraith knights by the thousands rode their ghoulish steeds, galloping far behind, followed by the running orcs. From the window, Lucifer could see the impoverished countryside that had resisted Arbiter's influence. The grass was greener where her Holy Church ruled, and Satan's fleet teased Orlean's border. The human armies looked like ants along their walls, observing helplessly.

Azazel stood at the window next to Lucifer. Even though he was the leader and victor of this battle, he looked grim. They were going to celebrate his success at the castle, the Dominion now titled Hero and knighted by Satan. Lucifer was proud of him, but Azazel was concerned by something else.

"Long hair suits you," Lucifer said, and Azazel tried a smile, but it came out crooked.

He kept eyeing Lucifer's tall red horns and the pair of black wings in his back. They were all marks of the curse and suffering, and Azazel could probably feel it in his bones. If only he'd listened more closely while they were still in Heaven, they might have never fallen, or at least not Azazel.

"You won't flatter me with hollow compliments." Azazel crossed his arms, almost as if to hide the lock, sealing the hole on his chest. It looked as if he'd pulled his heart out and threw it away.

"How did you recover your reputation after losing Egrigori and Samael? I don't believe you became a General in one day after such a loss, have you?" Lucifer asked.

Azazel's lips twisted in distaste. Lucifer could see through the emptiness of his eyes that he wouldn't say a word of what hardships he'd endured. 

"There's no noble or honorable way to become a respected Demon General if that's what you wanna know."

"Oh, that's not what I wanted to know. I just intend to do much worse than you and Satan."

***

If Lucifer could have chosen his way to celebrate his newfound freedom, it would have been to sit somewhere calm and read a good book, or drink coffee. Every conversation he had with whoever was clueless enough to approach him drained him a bit more of the little energy he had. Playing friendly with Satan was exhausting, and Lucifer fooled nobody, so he kept as polite as he could when he had to engage.

The most important representatives of Cocytus' nobility had gathered in the castle's great hall to celebrate Satan's victory on Pandemonium. Technically, it was Azazel who had won the battle, but nobody would name another victor than the King. His General's successes were his own. He joked they'd decorated the castle's back-yard with Pandemonium, which everyone, except Astaroth, seemed to find hilarious.

The castle was ancient, the walls made of gross black volcanic stone, and no electric power to light the halls. There wasn't much decoration, save for a few grotesques not much different from the living gargoyles who haunted the long, gloomy corridors. Cheers echoed under the tall vaulted ceilings, lava running underground with a constant low rumble. The entire hall glowed red through the magic stained glass, isolating them from outside's unlivable heat.

The tableware was the only sparkle and shine comparable to Lucifer. Golden plates and covers, containers, precious china stolen from Humans and Gods alike, decorated every inch that wasn't covered in luxurious food. Skulls from defeated enemies served as candle holders or as cups for ale.

Mirin was surrounded by a bunch of curious nobles of her species. She was the girl who had befriended the Blue Flame, an attraction of the party. Lucifer had tried to cover that fact, but once drunk enough, she ran her silly mouth too much. She was a commoner, but they all seemed quite close after no more than five minutes. Lucifer couldn't have stood the wandering hands, but Mirin responded in kind, comfortable with the groping.

Mammon was busy with the dessert buffet, a tower of cakes held in one plate, and fruits in the other. The forced feeding and starving from Pandemonium hadn't seemed to affect her appetite or her health. The only progress was she didn't devour whatever Demon on the way she thought looked tasty anymore.

Azazel was at his fifth or sixth glass of Cocytus Wine, only grunting in response to those who tried to talk with him and didn't whither under his searing glare. He insisted that wine was the best thing in Hell, but Lucifer preferred to keep his mind clear if he had to talk to Satan. No, _Lord_ Satan, he had to say now. Your Highness, Your Majesty, Oh former loathed enemy of mine! Politics, it was all for politics!

The King had shrunken for the occasion but was still a giant in human terms. He sat with his court at a round table. Astaroth, their hair now white and a massive pair of buckhorns curling at the sides of their head, kept wearing a frozen, tense smile. The royal couple didn't address a word to another, Astaroth having only eyes for Lucifer whenever he was in their line of sight. He avoided entering that zone as if the floor were lava.

"Where has Samael gone?" Lucifer asked, red-nosed Azazel.

The General pointed towards an area enclosed by heavy velvet curtains. Lucifer decided that place was his next destination, and he'd spend some time in her company. A group of admirers was quick to swoop Azazel away, and he deserved his moment of glory alone.

Behind the curtains, the atmosphere was relaxed, velvety compared to the main hall. Most people were smoking, cuddling, or playing cards. Samael was lying on a divan cross-legged and puffed a purple cloud that spread on the ceiling. Egrigori wasn't far, surrounded by his infamous court, fallen in his vices again and enjoying himself plenty. Samael overlooked Lucifer, too fascinated by the chandelier on the ceiling. Mirin was in a magic circle of sleeping Succubus, comfortably laying on pillows on the ground.

They were all happy and safe. Lucifer took a breath of relief, and suddenly his lungs burned. It hit him unexpectedly. The smell of the Demon's Orchid sent him back into his prison cell. Bile went up to his throat. Guard's footsteps were approaching, thrumming in his head. Lucifer stumbled out, heaving, dread at the pit of his stomach. He ran out, reached a stairway, and used the railing to hold himself upright, his legs jelly.

"My, are you alright?" a woman asked, setting her hand on his shoulder as he'd bucked forward, feeling close to throwing up. He couldn't show such weakness in public!

"Just a little dizzy— Magisa?!"

The Great Witch put her finger to her lips. She was wearing a long shiny red dress with thick leather straps covering her opulent bosom, but no witch hat, a pair of fake horns on her head instead. Mammon was nearby, her tray and face full of food and monitoring their surroundings. Lucifer had a feeling that woman wasn't formally invited to the party.

"I told you we'd meet again when the time is right," Magisa said.

They were in a large empty room under a vault on top of a long stone stairway, only a few servants passing by with trays of meat and other items for the celebration. They were Nephilim, slaves, and had other than the suspicious pair conspiring in the darkness.

"I thought your coven wasn't Satanic."

"It's not, but I'm here to give you an important invitation," she said, pushing a piece of paper into his hand. It combusted, only leaving a shining mark on his palm. She licked her lips nervously, eyeing around them and whispering as lowly as she could.

"Once you have your army, come to my house in the Dark Woods. The mark will lead you. I can help you visit Sandalphon in his Dreamscape safely. You ought to listen to him before you head to Etemenanki."

"What is he to you?" he asked.

She was the public excuse for his disgrace. He couldn't entirely blame her, but he still remembered the trick she'd used to escape. It had involved Sandalphon, and that, he couldn't forgive. Arbiter had enabled the conspiracy, but Magisa still used the opportunity to flee with her sisters. That's why the group of prisoners had looked so unafraid; they knew Arbiter was giving them a chance to escape and hide.

"He means the world to us," she replied, and her gaze was so determined and straightforward, he had trouble not believing her. "Don't entrust that task to Mirin. She can't handle Sahar's barriers or Sandalphon's instability."

"What if you're sent by Arbiter and trying to trick me again?" Lucifer hissed.

"She isn't!" Mammon blurted, spitting some of her food. "Arbiter offered her absolution and freedom against your head and was holding her sisters hostage. Give her a chance!"

"But he'll be waiting all of that time! Gathering my army will take me decades!"

"Is the world worth your patience?" Magisa asked, her voice slightly shaking.

"Absolutely not," he scoffed.

"Then, is Sandalphon's freedom and happiness worth it?" Her expression had hardened, and she hid her hands in her back. They were shaking.

Lucifer hated the weight in his chest, hated the fact he still felt sorry for that little woman who was brave enough to confront him, even though he had a reason to kill her. She was begging him with her green eyes. Mammon kept eating, but he felt her battle-ready tension.

"Yes, I'd give my everything for his happiness," Lucifer finally replied.

Suddenly, someone came stumbling. It was Samael, sparkling in her celebration armor, reeking of that damned drug. Her platinum headband etched with precious stones was crooked on her head, and even dressed so elegantly, her gait on her unsteady legs remained clumsy. Samael's face was drenched in sweat, and she was retching. Before he could open his mouth, she threw up over the railing of the stairway.

"Fuck," she hissed.

"What are you doing here, Lucifer?"

Egrigori had arrived, slightly out of breath as if he'd run after Samael. He, too, was in his most fashionable attire, sparkling no less than a Seraph in his golden armor plates and precious fabrics. The ceremonial sword at his side looked heavy. They'd killed a king to steal those clothes, Lucifer thought wryly. He was modest with his old torn clothes and bits of armor trickling down like blood out of gashes on his chest.

Lucifer caught Samael as she suddenly fell. Her legs looked like glued together. White scales were appearing on them. Her bare stomach squeezed against Lucifer's as he lifted her up. Perhaps she'd overeaten, or her belly swollen with whatever she'd been consuming, but there was a small hard bump.

The Nephilim steadied, he turned around to address Magisa, but the witch was gone. Mammon was still in the frame of the door, her food tray empty, observing Samael with slight concern.

"Maybe take a rest without smoking or drinking?" Lucifer suggested.

Egrigori nodded, and, wise enough to ignore her complaints, carried her away like a potato sack. "Don't barf on me," he said lovingly, "Fuck you," she replied, sweetly.

Another snake was going to grow over her legs. It wasn't going to be a reminder of her lost brother anymore, but perhaps of the injustices of Pandemonium. There was no escaping the Fallen Angel's curse, nor her eternal wrath. Even if Lucifer saved the world, he'd keep his black wings, his horns, and the searing pain would continue. He had no reason to defend any sort of virtue or honor anymore, only his interests and keep on living.

Just for a blink of an eye, he saw himself carrying Sandalphon, and he saw his smile through the one Egrigori directed at Samael's rear over his shoulder. He loved her, snake or not, pretty or not, barfing on his wings or not. Looking at them, even the void in his core didn't feel as empty.

This war was going to take more than just a few years, so he might as well enjoy himself until then. Lucifer returned to the main hall and took a glass of wine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE FALL - END  
> Next arc - WAR  
> We're close to the end of the story. The climax will be in the next arc. I hope you enjoyed this chapter :)


	21. III - WAR

## III

## WAR

"Mistarcia is ours," the Captain of the First Nephilim Division said, kneeling to her Lord.

They had raided the capital, Anatae, broken through its rampart like a tidal wave. Only a few enemies survived to tell the tale of the day the Orleans Knights failed to protect the holy city. Down went the Orleans Knights, down went their Captain, his head paraded by roaring orcs. The King was dead, hail the new King!

Commoners needed so little to weaken their faith in the Almighty when they didn't trust their King. The Demon army wasn't targeting the city, but the few people the citizens still trusted. Conspiracies whispered in the ears of the loudest fools had vastly served their ambitions. Survivors lost their morale, seeing the last men blessed by the Gods meet a humiliating, horrible end.

The Orleans Knights fought honorably, protecting the city before themselves, their valiant Captain with his troops at the front. Lucifer gave orders from afar, out of reach unless they attacked Helheim. If the Demons had tried to destroy the ramparts and invade Anatae first, their chances to succeed would have been thin. Instead, they corrupted Mistarcia's core before peeling its outer layers.

Blessings from the Holy Church didn't give mere humans magical powers. Only the Almighty could send a Chosen One, a Hero who would defeat all evil and become a guiding light to men. Demons thrived in the absence of a religious voice. Shalem Ben Sahar, Anatae's messiah, had disappeared long ago. The Goddess old civilizations worshipped remained but an anecdote in their legends.

Heretics and minorities the Holy Church had once oppressed and massacred turned to Lucifer when he offered his help. Pagans, Black Witches, and people of other hunted faiths joined his banner as he tricked them into believing he was their savior. Angels could only cry, looking down at what happened on earth, but they had their own battles to fight in the name of the Blue Flame.

Unlike those noble knights, little greenhouse flowers picked for their name, the Nephilim were an unrefined, brutal tribe with several mortal lifetimes of struggles. They had no honor, no pride, but an unshakable faith in their leader. They believed in a shining future, while humans prayed to avoid another famine.

Nephilim had aimlessly roamed the lowest earth of Assiah until their shepherd reached his hand and helped them lift their heads up proudly. Lucifer freed them from slavery and led them on the way to equality and respect. Heaven rejected them, so they were content with their corner of Hell.

In what Sahar and Metatron had failed to do, Lucifer had succeeded radiantly. The Speaker of Dawn had once promised them freedom, but he'd offered them a hidden garden, away from the eyes of the Angels and human's awareness. Even Eden wasn't worth a kingdom and a name.

They lived in the luxuriant circle of mountains before Helheim, in the sun and closer to the sky than they'd ever been. The Orphans of Heaven were ready to do anything to protect their happiness, even if it meant blind massacres and terrorizing their enemies. Those lands once belonged to men, but now they belonged to them and Lucifer.

Kneeling in front of him with her spear of honor at her side was the most crucial moment of Belial's life. A loud, despicable voice in the Captain's head repeated it was only because of the military importance of her parents that he'd deem worthy looking down at her small form from the top of his throne.

Samael, her mother, stood in the throne room, her single eye glimmering. The white serpent head also observed her, flicking its red tongue as if pulling it at her mockingly. Samael knew what surprise was expecting Lucifer, and her mouth was drawn in a very tight line as if she'd start yelling otherwise.

"You have done well, Belial," Lucifer said.

Azazel should have been there to receive the honors, not her. Belial's lack of joy at her success made her angry at herself and at Azazel. Inherited wrath from her mother, the child of a Nephilim, the lowest of the low. If she were born in Heaven, Samael had said while smoking her poison, the Gods would have turned her into an animal and tried to forget she was ever anything as worthless as a Nephilim's child. Even born in privilege, Belial should never forget her origins and the history they carried.

"You do not seem satisfied," Lucifer sighed, and she lifted her head.

"I feel like my father and Azazel ought to receive your praise, my Lord," she said.

"It was your success. Is there anything you desire I might be able to offer?" Lucifer asked her Lord and Savior, the beautiful Seraph that glimmered like gold in her smitten eyes.

Belial had a bold request, and even as the battlefield had taught her to always keep calm and never let her tongue slip, her heart was pounding in her chest. She was young, so young, Samael would ramble with a cup of wine in hand. Belial should act like a woman her age, even if she was worthless. Why not take a mate, a one-night stand if nobody wanted her as a mate? She should still dress modestly and be wary of people who approach her, keep skeptical of Demons. She shook the thoughts out of her head.

"I do have a request." She took in a few deep breaths. "I wish to join your Harem," she said.

Samael wheezed, as if she'd not expected her to ever dare say it, or at least so bluntly and without introduction or warning. Belial had not lost all of her courage or recklessness, even in the toxic fumes of her insane mother. Samael and the curse of wrath couldn't define her, not now that she had an opportunity to show the voices wrong.

Lucifer's eyes narrowed, he tipped his head to the side and set his cheek on the back of his hand. She felt her skin crawl and burn and freeze, her heart thumping in her throat. He was going to hurt her, the voices shrieked, and she was bracing.

"I-It's not for the reasons you think!" Belial blurted, her legs shaking.

Samael put her hand to her forehead as if measuring her temperature. Lucifer's expression softened, a smile timidly pulling up the corners of his lips. Belial felt dizzy and lightweight on her feet as if pulled into a whirlpool, drowning in his enveloping shine.

"Are you unsatisfied with your current assignation?" he asked as softly as to soothe a cat.

"That's not what I mean!" she said, short of breath, and he lifted a hand.

"Please, I am listening and considering the meaning of your words," he said.

Belial felt that once again, Samael was behind how he was reacting. His kindness wasn't ever free; he only ever did favors. Worst of all, it was impossible to ever guess what Lucifer was thinking if he was serious or merely trying to keep face after such a shameless demand.

"I want my kind to be legitimized as a tribe. Becoming a General isn't comparable, even with the honors. You have created the Houses of Sin and unified many tribes with that federal system, but you don't have a concubine amongst the Nephilim yet," she said, struggling to keep her voice from shivering.

Lucifer threaded his fingers together, setting them on his lap. He closed his eyes, taking a moment to think.

"Even though he recognized your right to a state, Lord Satan considers Nephilim low-class commoners.

I wish to offer you that legitimacy, but even with your recent victory and merit, a commoner cannot become one of my wives. That, and…" he hesitated, glancing at a glowering Samael, "Lord Astaroth decides who I may mate with and when, if the title of Royal Mate rather than concubine would be enough."

"My Lord, your army equals Lord Satan's now, and some of his counselors even consider us a threat!" Belial said, and Samael hissed this time.

Taken by emotion, she couldn't stop at that anymore. That ugly goat kept tormenting her beloved King, and she couldn't bear thinking of what they did. Astaroth was notorious for their cruelty and sadism. Lucifer had grown no less of a dominant reputation in his Harem. Belial believed it to be the consequence of the Duke's abuse, not his consenting participation as he insisted it was when Azazel drank and became too loud about his disapproval.

"We have endured enough of Astaroth's dictatorship. Isn't our motto as Demons that rules are meant to be b—"

"Enough, Belial!" Samael barked, "Are you telling Lucifer to declare war on Lord Satan just so he can marry you? Do you realize how fragile our privilege is, stupid child? Or, no, are you so horny a fuck with him is worth our kingdom?"

Belial heard people snickering, but it could have been the voices. Lucifer clicked his tongue and shook his head at Samael, and she shut her mouth. They were friends, but he was the Lord of his domain and on duty, and she was one of his Generals, a commoner at that.

"I hear and understand your motivations, Belial, and they are noble. I would assign you to rule upon one of my Houses if I could, an even greater honor."

He lowered his head and thought in silence for a while that stretched out indefinitely to Belial. Finally, he lifted his blue eyes and nodded to himself.

"Perhaps I know a manner you may gain Lord Satan's favor, and Astaroth listen to your request," he said, pushing himself up from his throne to stand. "They question my legitimacy as a King of Hell, so it wouldn't be a stretch to believe a favor would be enough to earn you a bed in my castle."

Belial panicked and agitated her hands, unused to ever see him stand up for anyone, sometimes not even taking his eyes away from the books he read. For her, he'd set them on the side, and now he was standing, tall and mighty, a behemoth with his six wings always apparent. She wanted to crawl to his feet.

"A Knight has been standing in Lord Satan's way," he said. "That Knight protects churches that enshrine ancient relics said able to unseal the Blue Flame." Lucifer balled a fist, the sword at his side gleaming with the fire below. A defiant sneer appeared on his face. "I want those relics."

"You would get my daughter killed by a Speaker for a goddamn legend? Shalem's with him!" Samael whispered just loud enough for even Belial to hear her, indirectly defying the long ears in the throne room.

"I'll do it!" Belial said, hitting her spear to the ground. "I would give my life to bring you those relics, and you will marry me!" she shouted.

Lucifer beamed at her, and said, "But have I understood right when you said this is a marriage of interest, and not one out of desire or love? It makes me, Lord of Pride, feel a bit lonely."

His tone was teasing. It fanned Belial's roaring flames of desire into a tornado whirling through the city of her self-restraint. He was destroying her on the spot, and she wanted him to step on her and call her worthless.

"Absolutely not! I don't want to sleep with a Seraph almost as old and as pasty as my father!" she snapped.

With those words, she ran out of the throne room, roaring in self-loathing.

"You're not letting her go alone. I'll kill you if you do," Samael said, drawing a dagger with a dull edge.

He waved his hand at her dagger as if shooing a fly. "Don't worry," he said, picking up a book.

Once he picked up his books, there was no more distracting him anymore. Samael knew Lucifer intended to follow Belial in secret because nothing fascinated him more than his books and that pesky Knight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit late on the commentary here. I’m on a roll and want to have finished this story by December and take some time to concentrate on drawing. I hope to update more often.
> 
> As I mentioned on my author Twitter, I intend to completely re-write Beast & Sandalphon and take the original down once ANGEL is over. If you have subscribed to that fic or bookmarked it, I will upload the new version once I’m done. I’m not satisfied with the current version that has suffered from my lack of energy and attention.
> 
> The easiest way to stay updated is still to subscribe to my AO3 profile ;3 I feel like a salesperson trying to sell a rug each time I write this kind of stuff, sorry lol


	22. Chapter 22

299th cycle, the end of the world was near. Monika has died, as she was supposed to. The sorcerer Levi wasn't born, and Grimnir was battling alongside Odin in a civil war between the Norse and Mesopotamian Gods. Utter nonsense. None of this should have happened, neither should a Speaker have involved herself in human affairs.

Before Sahar banished Shalem from Heaven in their first and final argument, she told him they shouldn't interfere. If Providence had led Lucifer to Eden, Lucifer had a right to stay at Sandalphon's side. He wasn't the rebellious son from the prophecy. The arrow broke, they fell in love, and none of it was an accident. He disagreed and sent her down.

Lucifer tried hard to distinguish himself from Satan. While she believed he loved only Sandalphon, he'd taken a harem of Demons, committed every sin in the book, and terrorized humans for centuries. Raids, assaults, kidnappings, relentless massacres on civilians and soldiers alike. Only someone like Lucifer could have led Sandalphon to corruption and enabled the darkest prophecy to happen.

"Don't worry, Shalem, we'll be fine, I'll protect you if Lucifer's minions attack again," her young mortal companion, the Knight said, as if she needed any protection.

He was an average looking man with mid-long brown hair and eyes, not the brightest, but the strongest warrior she'd ever met. He'd attracted many allies and defeated several of Satan's Generals by himself. Some of those essential friends were missing, him recalling a woman named Feena that wasn't in their timeline. A Singularity couldn't coexist in a world with a Divergence, but a Chosen Hero could protect humanity from other threats.

They had reached a small town destroyed by a raid. Houses were in shambles, the air still thick and sticky with smoke. Neither of them blinked an eye at an exhibition of impaled heads, a common sight. The trolls or orcs which wrought such destruction always left a few survivors to tell the tale. The purpose was clear; cause terror and despair at one name, Lucifer's.

Here, curled up around her baby, a woman who had gone mad by fear, covered in dirt and blood, rocking back and forth. There, an old man looking for his family amongst the bodies. A shrill cry echoed of someone who had found who they were looking for, dead.

"Old man," Shalem called to the man leaning on his cane. Only his thick white eyebrows twitched in response.

"In what direction did the horde go?" she asked, ignoring the Knight who apologized for her lack of manners.

"Up there, up the hills, towards Saint Laurent's Church." He pointed towards a column of smoke.

"People must have gone there for shelter!" the brave Knight said, running to save people without a second thought.

The cross of the church was burning, a signature from Lucifer. He burned them to remind the clergy of how he used to burn witches for them. To him, the Holy Church was worse than what it demonized. Shalem didn't care for symbols, but she knew what Lucifer had gone through to come this far. Each time, the smoke put tears into her eyes. Still, she couldn't forgive Lucifer for his crimes.

Lucifer must have been the rebellious son the Almighty had feared to influence Sandalphon. Nobody else than him could convince Sandalphon to aim his arrow at—

***

It was all a dream, but in dreams, anger was something uncontrollable. Sandalphon's only way to satisfy his urge to kill was to point his arrow at the nightmare that had been plaguing his Dreamscape for a few minutes too long.

The general population had become aware of Sandalphon's existence, and Sahar couldn't deny all of the faithful entry, even less if Arbiter were behind them. Humanity needed reassurance, Arbiter argued, and with Lucifer fallen, Sandalphon had become their beacon of light. Since then, his peaceful dreams were regularly interrupted by men of power searching guidance. This one didn't seem to need any more advice than to stop sexually harassing strangers.

Sandalphon was sick and tired of parasites coveting him, of Arbiter, of oracles from the Holy Church and sects. No, he wasn't interested in talking about everyone's Lord and Savior, his Father, and whatever they wished for him to do! He'd lost count of the number of prophecies he heard, and all of the ways he could die that would benefit someone or another. The Flaming One, they called him, ignoring the anger simmering under his skin.

The only person who never told him what he wanted was Sahar. He'd wanted to offer Sandalphon a chance at happiness even in his sealed state. There was no happiness for an apocalyptical religious icon with no future.

If this pest had been able to stay for this long, Sahar must have invited him personally. Unlikely, given the black hair and red eyes, the purple feather boa, and his revealing clothes. Either he was a Nephilim that Sahar tolerated, or he was Satan himself and had killed the Speaker of Dawn.

"Oh, come on," the black-haired man said, his voice sultry, "I'm all into penetration, but that little arrow of yours won't be enough to satisfy me."

"It will satisfy me to see a hole in your face," Sandalphon spat, stomping on the man's exposed abdomen, but he only giggled as if enjoying it.

His excuse for the visit was, "I'm here to open your eyes and your appetite." If that bastard meant Sandalphon was about to wake up, he'd have taken the opportunity to get away from this living nightmare with gratitude.

"You looked so lonely before you attacked me, I thought you'd enjoy some company." The stranger tried to look sorry, but it was as mocking as everything else.

"Who in the skies are you?" Sandalphon put his arrow between the stranger's eyebrows, and even in his position, the stranger dared to put his hands behind his head.

Suddenly the man was standing behind Sandalphon and leaned a forearm against his shoulder, whispering into his ear, "Your best nightmare."

"Get lost!" Sandalphon drew his sword and turned around.

The stranger was holding an apple and had put it in front of Sandalphon's face. He couldn't remember why, but that sight was enough to drain most of the fight out of him. Fear.

"And here I thought Sahar told you plenty about the birds and the bees."

"What are you even?"

"I'm just a passing apple farmer."

They were still turning in circles, and at this point, he wondered if that man was part of his imaginary, self-inflicted torture as a coping mechanism. His memories were separated between the embodiments of his personality, but this part of him remembered his origins. The apple, the spit, the betrayal, everything came back to him.

The stranger, nimble like a feline, skipped and twisted, avoiding Sandalphon's swinging sword and fist. He could imagine an entire arsenal to repel his visitors; it still didn't seem enough to destroy the stranger.

"I was not born from the Forbidden Fruit! I am the Almighty's servant, not the reject seed of adultery! The only part Eve has had in my creation was the curse they left behind!"

The stranger sneered, shaking his head as if he knew better. "So, you do remember. I'm Belial, and I have had more than a hand in your creation."

At last, he'd received an answer from that maniac, and it felt like a victory, but it was nothing more than deception. If Belial were telling the truth, his presence was impossible. He was supposed to be dead.

"Won't you listen to a lonely little ghost?" Belial asked, his tone sweet.

It might have been a bad idea to listen to him. Opening up to others was dangerous, and Belial was probably the most dangerous of them all. He was alone facing that beast, and nobody was protecting him when it mattered most. As always, alone.

"Did I call out the sad Sandy? I guess you only have the choice between sad, angry, and horny when you have no emotional intelligence."

"Sahar, the Almighty, and their world can go to dust, so why should I care about you?"

Belial's eyes had widened, and he seemed seriously stumped for the first time. He wasn't expecting a submissive little Cupid to say he wanted to end the world. Sandalphon felt a slight sense of satisfaction.

"There's no getting rid of you, is there?" Sandalphon sighed, giving up on throwing Belial out of his Dreamscape. There were things he wanted to know from Belial, whether he was a product of his pent-up anger or not.

The scenery around them changed. It was the first time in long Sandalphon had chosen to imagine the Garden of Eden again, and his choice was petty. Belial must have had uncomfortable memories of the place, just like him, so they could squirm together.

Belial scratched his chin, considering the environment, chuckled, and took a seat under the gazebo, which had appeared. Sandalphon thought of Lucifer, and if he had been a bit sad before, he had become depressed. He missed Lucifer's company, his gestures of tenderness, the time they spent together saying nothing. The Seraph had fallen and couldn't come back ever again.

Sandalphon sat on the other side of the table. He hoped to remember whatever Belial was going to tell him. It didn't matter Sahar knew what he was thinking anymore; he'd just have to face the consequences of keeping secrets. Sandalphon needed material for revenge.

"Eve had their plans for you, but what do you want? Don't tell me all you want is love." It sounded sarcastic and mean again, but Sandalphon couldn't compete with Belial for a roasting match.

"A witch asked me that," Sandalphon said, trying to remember the flavor of the coffee. All he could remember was the taste of sugar, and he grimaced. He wouldn't tell Belial it was probably useless to speak to only one part of his personality. "I'd like to know more about Eve."

Belial leaned his shoulders on the table and smiled. "Ask away."

***

The Celestial Adam and Eve were born at the creation of this universe. Adam and Eve were their titles, not their real names. Personally, I prefer calling Eve Lucilius, the name he took before the Almighty banished him from this world.

'Cilius' job was to populate the earth with many creatures. Sahar listened to the voice of God and guided mankind in its early stage. It was a golden era before humans committed any sin worse than going down and dirty. They didn't know war, weapons, jealousy, or hatred because they didn't know hunger, fear, or scarcity.

The Creator then split dusk and dawn, for plants to grow and wild beasts to sleep. Darkness and light divided by Dusk and Dawn, the creatures of the shadows found their own realm, without a leader and without ambitions. There wasn't a concept of good and evil, yet, neither did Satan exist.

That changed when 'Cilius grew tired of perfection. He had the smarts, introduced various branches of science, logical ways to study things other than praising the Almighty for their existence. He found the small imperfections in nature and cherished them. It was his work alone, God only ever playing with the threads of fate, or so he told me.

'Cilius created new Gods in the skies, some of them almost equal to our Father. It was his first small rebellion, but it was also part of the Almighty's Great Plan. Those Gods created others and demi-gods with humans, and Heaven became populated as we know it now. Those were what we call the Creation Gods. Some of them made mistakes, like Zeus, who created the Titans, Medusa, and other creatures that mortals feared.

With fear came the concept of good and evil. Mortals began praying and creating ceremonies against the Gods that frightened them, chose heroes to defeat creatures that were part of the world's equilibrium. Some of them were 'Cilius' work, and saying he was offended is an understatement. His imperfect creations were demonized while they served their purpose in homeostasis. Humans weren't ever meant to rule the earth.

'Cilius decided to tell mortals about science to lessen their fears with a better understanding of nature, but many resisted. They'd rather listen to other men who told them fear and hate of the unknown. It was easier to accept, less complicated, made them feel grander, immune to the laws of nature. Those who disagreed shaped their own ideas, still not listening to poor old 'Cilius. Those who actually did, well… Often ended on the stake.

Sahar had become the heavenly representative of faith and religion, while 'Cilius struggled to bring order in a wanton world with science. With their disagreements, it became tense in the conjugal bed. 'Cilius felt like all of his efforts were ruined every time Sahar opened his mouth. Just turned out people are dumb and their prophets misinterpreted celestial visions. 'Cilius begged him to shut up, but that offended Sahar. Divorce didn't exist yet, so they kept fighting with no resolution in sight.

You'd believe it couldn't get worse, but it did. Now that there were lower celestial beings like Angels, and the concepts of virtue and the love of a single God, several religions and even Angels criminalized other Angels for having offspring. That's when the Nephilim appeared, otherwise called the Sons of God.

I never knew mommy and daddy, like most Nephilim. When the sinful Angels weren't executed, they were sent down to earth. Persecuted by frightened humans, they escaped to the underworld. Those were the first Fallen Angels. Their crime: to procreate like beings with feelings and a free will. Their actions might have been part of the Almighty's Great Plan, but His ways are mysterious, and most believed it was a sin.

Sahar was quite sad about how Angels treated Nephilim and asked his Father for another Speaker to serve at Heaven's Supreme Court. Setting rules like the various churches could have brought some order into the chaos that Heaven had become.

That… Was a bad idea. With Arbiter's arrival, the oppression on Angels became worse, and with time, they grew accustomed to the abuse. Speak of getting numb after a repeat beating! While before, they could live in relative peace, the Nephilim were executed or turned into beasts at birth. Arbiter just swiped the dust under the rug, enjoying the praise.

Now Sahar realized he was perhaps a bit stupid and should shut up or act by himself, so he took a few newly orphaned Nephilim as pets, I included. He wanted to change our image positively and saw my competences early. 'Cilius didn't like us, kicked and beat us to prove it. To 'Cilius, we were the embodiment of his failures. He didn't consider us his children.

My little sister Samael learned violence that way killed a few birds and tortured a few cats in the garden by taking the shape of a snake. With each round of abuse at society's hands, she became worse. I had to run behind her to give her better ideas, like killing troublesome Angels instead. It was our parent's fault we existed and had to live such a hard life.

Meanwhile, I did my best to become indispensable to 'Cilius, and I found out he was much more interesting than I first thought. I fall for the twisted, complex types. He knew I meant no good, but still pulled me by the leash and treated me like his dog. I love pain and domination, so we were perfect together.

Let's say sweet Sahar was just too vanilla for his demanding spouse. Their arguments became violent, and 'Cilius got an infamous reputation for terrifying Angels and abusing his subordinates. Gods feared him and the monsters he was creating. Nobody would talk to him anymore, blaming him for hurting Sahar. They even called him the Rotten Apple of Eden.

'Cilius began planning to destroy the Almighty but needed to find a power capable of annihilating our Father. He couldn't do it bare-handed yet. Secretly, with my help, he bonded with Fallen Angels and the Almighty's antithesis, Satan. They experimented a whole lot, stole many souls, and involved humans without Sahar ever noticing. My job was to cover up for them and distract everyone, corrupt as many Angels as possible.

I might have disillusioned or hurt Arbiter someway, but that bitch was also twisted. She loved power and to see her influence grow. The admiration and praise that once just made her giggle and blush had become orgasmic. Frigid, but an easy pawn to use. She agreed to put up the foundations for a war between Heaven and Hell. She thought 'Cilius would give her a part of his power, the stupid girl.

Sadly, I made a mistake; I genuinely loved 'Cilius, even though I hated every single God in Heaven. You could call love a mass of contradictions, but my services became, in part, uninterested. His evil side turned me on so bad that our dynamic turned into something neither of us could control. I'm rather one for thinking with my head rather than my heart, but I wanted 'Cilius, and he didn't consider fucking his subordinate a problem.

My intention wasn't to hurt Sahar; I didn't care about him at all. He was just an idiot who loved his 'Eve' so much, he trusted 'Cilius almost blindly. The closer' Cilius plan came to fruition, the more both of us grew impatient, and the worse his relationship with Sahar. They were destined by the Almighty to be together, the Original Celestial Couple. To destroy that sacred bond was better than sex.

I was born with a name meaning "Worthless," and 'Cilius called me that way, so what ecstasy to have him moaning my name under me! The world was about to end, the flame was there, inside of 'Cilius, and he was burning with desire. To mark our final tryst, we did it under the infamous Tree that had already upset our Father. The only thing we didn't account for was another snake;

Nahash, your babysitter, genuinely liked Sahar. He was a father to her, someone who saved her from a miserable destiny. As she was a Nephilim, others must have opened up to her about what the Fallen Angels were planning. Incapable of doing anything without proof, she spied on us from the Tree, saw what we were doing, and warned Sahar.

Sahar appeared at the worst moment possible, sword in hand and furious. He tried to understand 'Cilius, even as naked and dirty as he was. Everything came out of the bag and my stick. Sahar never intended to harm 'Cilius. Sahar told me to wipe myself off, I thought I'd survive and pass a fair judgment, but he cut my head.

Before the Almighty came down from Etemenanki to banish 'Cilius, he used the seed of the Forbidden Fruit like the Almighty had used clay to create man, and sealed his power inside of you. He left a magic imprint in the back of your mind, something that would only trigger while you were in a Dreamscape and in the right situation, so here I am.

Sahar's love for 'Cilius pushed him to take you under his wing instead of sealing you immediately. His mercy and kindness were always his greatest weaknesses, but he couldn't get less stupid. He wanted to give you a chance to live happily, away from the public eye, and redeem himself for his mistakes.

In came Lucifer and his lover desired another man than himself again. He mustn't have understood his jealousy. Father warned Sahar about 'Cilius and me, but that jealous Speaker convinced himself Lucifer was the rebel our Father warned him about. Your romance must have reminded him of us, and he got a bit too emotional. Not like I can judge what he did as right or wrong, but he changed his mind and sealed you away.

So, now that you know all of this, what do you want to do, Sandy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, Sahar had the wrong guy all along. I honestly don't know what to add more about the plot. I ship FaaBeli. We'll get back to the main story in the next chapter :)


	23. Chapter 23

The relic supposed to unseal the Flaming One was a golden globe the size of an apple. It was displayed at the center of a common altar, like any other insignificant decoration in the cathedral. Belial couldn’t believe this was what Lucifer had sent her to retrieve. Her hopes to become his first Nephilim concubine, to elevate her kind’s status, and to stay at her beloved King’s side forever was at arm’s reach. For once, she hoped her mother would congratulate her on a job well done.

“Are you sure this is the right thing?” Mirin asked, scratching her head.

“Mmh, nope. The priest said it was inside the cathedral, right?”

“That’s what he said.” Mirin always brought the truth out of her victims in dreamland.

There didn’t seem to be any way downstairs, lodgings, or archives room. They stood in an arched mass hall, with a pipe organ and the altar, the light of outside’s fire flickering through stained glass. The townspeople had erected one window to honor Lucifer, who had once protected this area from the same Demons that massacred them on his order. Belial smiled at the shining Seraph.

Legend said the Speaker of Dawn had blessed the village after they celebrated him in a play and gifted them a braided lock of his hair. It was inside of a small golden globe. The church was ridiculously grand compared to the small town, but the region thrived thanks to visiting pilgrims who sought his blessing. The nuns' cloister had been destroyed in the raid. Trolls had kidnapped most of the survivors.

Belial moved to the wall behind the altar, patting around, looking for any hidden mechanism. She knocked and pressed the stone bricks, ear against them to hear if anything sounded hollow. It was as reliable as a common wall. She tapped her foot to the ground, and it was the same.

“What do you think, Abaddon?” Belial asked, not expecting much from the hulking Demon, which barely managed to pass the portal. A few chandeliers had already fallen at his passage. Annoyed by them, he’d punched a hole in the ceiling.

“Let’s bring it to Lord Lucifer, he’ll be happy,” the knight from the House of Sloth under Egrigori said, not caring if it was the right thing or not.

Belial took a few steps and reached out to the globe. It didn’t contain any divine energy.

“Halt, foul Demons! I won’t allow you to steal this village’s sacred treasure!”

A young male human had passed through the portal. His sword was drawn.

“Y-you? How old are you?” Mirin looked as if she’d seen a ghost.

Over a dozen of their cronies had been guarding the cathedral, strong soldiers at that. Belial couldn't believe he'd defeated them by himself, just as little as that tacky orb was the sacred relic.

“Y-you,” Belial looked him up and down, giggling, “You puny mortal, gave Lord Azazel a hard time?”

“Is that guy immortal, or just like his ancestor?” Mirin mused.

The glint in his eye showed some recognition at Azazel’s name, but he didn’t reply, taking a battle stance. His eyes were on the relic, and he, too, seemed hesitant. It wasn’t the relic, it couldn’t have been, and she was losing her time. 

“Abaddon,” Belial called.

He wouldn’t ever have moved a finger without her orders or helped her if he felt she could handle the knight alone. Mirin’s reserve on drawing her own weapon pushed her to first test the human’s strength. Going head-on herself didn’t feel like a good idea.

“Kill that vermin.”

Abaddon didn’t see that man as a serious threat because he didn’t complain or hesitate. He took out his mace and swung it down. Missed. The boy was fast. The floor had become gravel. Three more attempts and he sighed, bulky enough to not suffer even with a sword in his leg. It mustn’t have stung more than a mosquito bite. A slap from Abaddon’s gigantic hand sent him flying into a wall. It burst and broke. Belial believed he was done for. Instead, he stood up again, and his sword began shining.

Abaddon was on the floor, and Belial barely avoided the Knight’s sword, lightning quick. Her sword, forged in the coals of the city of Dis, could barely hold on. It vibrated between her hands as she blocked his attacks. The knight’s style was quick but reckless, head-on as if he were invulnerable. He’d not learned to wield the sword or any technique, but elite trained Belial had trouble finding an opening.

Mirin tried spelling magic on him, but he deflected electric attacks with earth shields. She wasn’t a trained soldier, but someone who usually worked from a distance, inside people’s heads.

“I’ll call backup! Abaddon, help her,” Mirin said, breaking through Lucifer’s stained glass.

“Impossible!” Belial gasped, not allowing herself to be distracted. “There isn’t supposed to be a Chosen Hero in a world with a Divergence!”

He didn’t seem to understand what she meant. Her men were dead, and Mirin hadn’t noticed the stain of blood below Abaddon’s body. They were so close, so close to fulfilling her dreams and aspirations. Perhaps she was going to die, unable to come home to announce her defeat. Belial wasn’t strong enough.

She called upon her magic powers, summoning her dark spear. It was hard to keep the knight at a distance, but it allowed her a bit of leeway to breathe. “I need…” she said between her teeth to herself, “To protect… Lucifer…” The strength that had been abandoning her seconds earlier came back like an unstoppable wave, and she roared, sending the knight flying.

He stood up again, his head smeared in blood. Belial never felt fear for a mortal before, but there he was, as frightening as a True Dragon. Thinking of those creatures, the source of his power suddenly struck Belial. Chosen Heroes must be selected by Gods, and this one’s blessing came from... She trembled, leaning on her Spear to stand.

Escaping was her only option, and return to defeat him with an entire army. The object she held might not have been the Holy Relic, and her mother might reject her excuses and punish her for her failures, but Lord Lucifer would understand.

“Abaddon, help!” she cried, but the Knight’s sword pierced through her side.

She stumbled and reeled, fell onto her back, spitting blood. The blade came down, her miserable life flashing before her eyes. She put her arms and spear in his way, only the time to blink. Blades crashed together.

Night had fallen, a shadow looming over Belial. There stood, massive with his six wings unfolded, Lucifer. She was voiceless, and time felt like it hung in the air while it quivered around them with the impact.

He’d blocked the Knight’s attack and still stood straight. His wings folded. The Knight stumbled a few steps back, holding his sword with both hands.

Belial, between horrified and elated, tried to say something but gurgled blood. Her wound wasn’t healing fast enough, that god-slaying sword probably responsible for her state. Lucifer didn’t look at her, didn’t ask anything. Abaddon was crawling away.

“Knight,” Lucifer said, “Why do you cherish this world so much? It is rotten and corrupt, the Gods you serve indifferent. What motivates you to step in my way over centuries?”

“The atrocities you commit,” the Knight’s voice trembled in anger, “the suffering you cause. I can’t allow them to continue. In your hands, the relic you seek will unleash chaos beyond what any prophecy describes.”

“Chaos,” Lucifer chuckled, “Is only what the corrupt Gods and men brought on themselves. Then, I understand you aren’t on a quest for righteousness and good?”

“Call it what you like,” the Knight shrugged, “Most of my companions have died. The Speaker said the timelines are distorted because of the Divergence. I should have died, but here I am, and there must be a reason.”

He pointed his sword at Lucifer. “It must be to stop you.”

Their blades clashed. Belial tried to move, but a large hand closed around her. Abaddon picked her up and pulled her back, out of harm’s way. She struggled as much as her wound allowed her to, but she couldn’t fight.

“Do you mean _Providence_ sent you here?” Lucifer asked in a mocking tone.

Lucifer was smirking, his blue eyes wide in excitement, having met a mortal capable of challenging him for the first time. He threw himself into the fight, so fast, Belial had trouble following them. Most of the cathedral was already in shambles, the roof gone, burned, and neither fire nor gales nor ice seemed capable of stopping the two monsters fighting. Abaddon curled over her whenever rocks fell, or fire licked their way.

“Aren’t we all just puppets,” Lucifer said, as they were heaving, trying to catch their breaths, both seeming quite amused, “puppets to Providence?” He threw a fire-ball.

Lucifer laughed, delighted as the Knight swung the spell right back at him. “And you, Singularity of this world, are the greatest puppet of Providence! Tell me, how much has He taken from you? Why do you keep fighting, even alone?”

Abaddon suddenly charged into the knight’s back. He barely avoided him. Lucifer lunged against the distracted Knight, but he wasn’t as oblivious as she’d thought; he hit Lucifer straight into the chest. Adrenaline shot up Belial’s head, forgetting pain. She stood up and flew fast and put her body over Lucifer’s, as tightly as she could.

“Fool…” Lucifer breathed, Abaddon too dead to hear him, “You… Ruined my fun…”

She looked behind her, shaking. The knight stood there, watching them, not in a good state either, barely able to stand. He could still swing his sword and kill them both. Her last resort was negotiation.

“Please, listen to me,” she said. “Lucifer has been through more than you could imagine. It doesn’t excuse what he did, but he isn’t evil!”

She wasn’t making much sense, Lucifer was a villain, but she talked from the heart, and it was racing, like her mind, fumbling with words, Lucifer too weakened to resist his final blow.

“Everyone’s been manipulated by Arbiter! She has jailed and tortured Lucifer for years, and he became like this. The Almighty didn’t make him a Fallen Angel, she did!”

The knight kept listening, Lucifer’s face twisted with anger at Belial for outing his past. He was supposed to be the infamous Doom Lord, evil incarnate to men. She had the privilege of knowing him a bit more than his other soldiers and was exposing him to his arch-enemy. He tried pushing her off himself, but the bleeding worsened. He grunted angrily.

“Arbiter? Torture someone? She’s a force of good,” he said, “She serves humanity and brings hope to people you terrorize! If it weren’t for faith and hope, there would only be him and fear left!”

“Don’t make me laugh!” Belial spat. “Arbiter loves power. If you support her crimes, I doubt the Almighty chose you, because she betrayed Him as well, just like she betrayed Lucifer!”

Belial felt her skin crawl, and a cold sensation as if the temperature had dropped. Suddenly, she was under Lucifer, and he’d drawn his sword to his side, shielding her with his six wings. He was grimacing in pain, and suddenly, rage twisted his features. She’d never seen such hatred in his eyes.

“Don’t listen to them, valiant knight,” an ethereal voice said.

“Arbiter,” Lucifer hissed between his teeth. “Belial, I’ll try to create an opening. Run to Mirin,” he whispered.

“You have the chance to kill the ultimate evil on earth. Haven’t his horrible acts in the cities and villages you’ve visited been proof enough?” Arbiter ignored Lucifer’s whispers.

The knight didn’t reply, but he didn’t move either. Lucifer shifted, leaving space for Belial to crawl away behind his wings. “Quick,” he urged. She wouldn’t go, not without him, not even if he looked angry or begged her.

For the moment, they owed their life to the fact Arbiter hated dirtying her hands. Lucifer was weakened, and it seemed the Knight had served Arbiter quite a few times. She trusted him to undo the two horrible Demons.

“You have spread fear, prejudice, and greed among men and Gods!” Belial snapped, “Go preach to a heap of shit, bitch!”

Something zapped. Lucifer’s face contorted, and he groaned. He swung Belial out of the way. His wings were bleeding, Arbiter severe and haughty, looking down at the squirming beast. She’d aimed for Belial, just a small rebuttal from her point of view, but it had struck Lucifer.

“I believe this is what you’re looking for?” A shining globe appeared in front of her, out of their reach.

It was the real relic. The Speakers must have expected Lucifer to search for it, and they had taken it to safety. She’d sent the knight their way after the raid.

Arbiter had sacrificed the entire village to take the Demons by surprise and convince the knight of how evil they were. Belial doubted Sahar would have allowed such a strategy on a town that worshiped him, and he’d blessed centuries ago. Arbiter was on her own, neither Archangel Michael nor Gabriel at her side. This wasn’t part of a concerted plan.

“All those innocent lives lost,” she sighed, “I wish I had been able to come earlier.”

With a swift movement of her hand, she broke the relic. A blond strand of hair burned, and all of the item’s magic power was gone. Lucifer groaned like a beaten animal.

The Knight’s fists had tightened around the handle of his sword and were shaking. Even if he had given up his bias and guessed her scheme, he couldn’t have fought Arbiter at that moment. Exhausted by his previous battle, only divine intervention could have given him enough strength to defeat her.

With great pains, Belial stood up, standing with arms spread between the knight and Lucifer. Arbiter seemed faintly amused.

“He is no monster!” she cried, “Monsters are heartless! This world is twisted – nothing is happening the way it should! Don’t kill our king, I beg of you!”

He hesitated, his eyes searching for an answer between Lucifer, Belial, and Arbiter. The Chosen Hero didn’t know what to do anymore.

“Nope, things aren’t going the way they should at all,” someone said.

Arbiter looked up, agape. There where the cross had burned, behind the hole in the roof, stood a small woman with dark skin and long blond hair. Seeing her, Lucifer crumbled onto his stomach, as if her presence were the killing blow.

“S-speaker of Dusk? What owes me the hono—”

“Aw, shut up, will ya?” the Speaker of Dusk said, “Knight, don’t listen to her. I heard and saw everything I needed as proof to condemn her. That bitch has been playing everyone.”

Arbiter’s calm demeanor broke, and Belial felt magic power well from her staff. Belial caught Lucifer with all of her strength and jumped, both of them rolling to the side. Something of enormous power buzzed and shrieked over their head. All of her hair stood up, the floor beneath them shook and tremored so hard, she fell over Lucifer. They were blasted up in the air, and she reached out to catch Lucifer, wherever he was. Someone else grabbed her wrist.

The Knight was holding it, wide-eyed and confused as Arbiter or Shalem had sent them all up into the air. Belial tried to shake him off, but they were in free-fall. Lucifer, where was Lucifer? Gathering the last of her strength, she unfolded her wings, the pest gripping even harder.

Instead of hitting the hard ground, something suspended them in mid-air. A pentagram of light had appeared, and before Belial could look closer, it closed around them in the shape of an orb. Lucifer was with them, unconscious.

Explosions, as if a hundred volcanoes were erupting, roared around them. Below, the village, the hills, everything was turning to ashes. The wrath of a Goddess was befalling the lands.

***

“Speaker of Dawn, we must solve this misunderstanding diplomatically,” Arbiter said, glaring at the orb protecting her target.

She was so close to eliminating Lucifer, and that woman stood between them, the Banished Speaker, who tried to convince Sahar of her guilt without proof. Naturally, Arbiter was on the Almighty’s side. She was fair and righteous, just misunderstood.

Shalem, she didn’t deserve her sacred title anymore, was peering at Arbiter. “After ya encouraged a civil war in Heaven and tried to kill Lucifer under my nose?”

“I did nothing more than follow the path of the best prophecy, in the interest of our Father!” Arbiter argued, “If Sahar can understand me, why can’t you?”

“The best outcome for who? Do ya seriously believe Father would have wanted humans extinct? Sahar acts dumb, but I have his blessing to whoop your ass.”

There was no convincing a fool who had fallen for a mortal. It was the knight’s fault she believed the Almighty cared about mortals. They had disappointed him so often and were on the path of depravity, sinful, selfish creatures who only bowed to the Gods for their personal gain. A chosen few of Arbiter’s followers deserved Sandalphon’s blessing, nobody else.

“Sandalphon has become the guiding light of my people. What more could you want for him than the highest seat in Heaven?”

“Free will,” Shalem replied, the insane Goddess who didn’t care for the fate of Heaven.

Didn’t she know what would happen to the three worlds if Sandalphon aimed his arrow in the wrong direction? Arbiter couldn’t allow the witch’s prophecy to happen. It would cost both Demons and Gods too much influence. Any other outcome than the Divine Rebirth wasn’t in her favor, so she couldn’t allow Shalem to get in her way.

“If we let him do whatever he wants, he might die and…”

“Enough talk. I’m wiping the floor with your pasty face.” An orb of dusk’s power shaped over Shalem’s head, chaotic in nature.

Arbiter shot first, and the sky opened with her power.

***

A terrible shriek, a light flashed, and a halo of light rose in the sky. The forcefield weaned and flickered, Belial’s injuries suddenly healed right before it broke. She caught the falling knight and flew him down, Lucifer following them. Hopefully, Mirin had taken shelter somewhere, because no hills or mountains were left at eye’s sight.

The knight frantically looked around and sprinted into the direction of a black form sprawled on the ground—Closeby, broken, shining magic stones. Arbiter had died, only a flicker of her celestial light fading into nothing.

Shalem’s earthly vessel was petite and insignificant between the knight’s arms, all of her grandeur lost without her frightening aura. The knight put his ear to her chest, and a strangled, pitiful sound came out of his throat.

The knight’s insistent cries grew louder as she didn’t respond. If she were dead, Belial thought she’d have turned to dust like Arbiter. Still, Belial couldn’t feel the Speaker’s energy anymore, only what remained in her veins and was still healing her wounds.

“No, not you too! Please, you were my last companion, please, don’t leave me behind! Why did you stand between us?” the knight was in tears, “I told you to not intervene! I am the Chosen One. I could have defeated Arbiter! Was it for Sandalphon? Were you that angry?”

Belial wasn’t sure about who the knight was talking, or Sandalphon’s relationship with the Speaker of Dusk. It sounded as if he were talking about the Flaming One nobody named.

Lucifer’s expression was unreadable. Mixed feelings, perhaps, for this woman who was part of his enemies, but had never done them wrong. They owed her their lives, but that wasn’t what he was thinking about. Whatever was going on in his mind, he’d lost his ability to cry. Not a heart of stone, but something else was glazing over his eyes.

Belial and Lucifer let the knight cry his heart out, rocking Shalem between his arms. He was a broken man, no Hero anymore. This could only have happened in a world abandoned by the Almighty. His powers were limited, waning under the influence of the Divergence’s existence. Twisted, hopeless world. Nothing guaranteed he could save humanity if he couldn’t protect any of his friends.

“Knight, she’s still alive,” Lucifer said, “Look at her mouth.”

There was a black object over her lips. Her physical form was intact, and Gods didn’t need to breathe like men or have a beating heart. 

“It’s the same kind of curse as the one Sahar put on Sandalphon,” Lucifer said, his tone somber, “Knight, her vessel sleeps, but her power lives. A key to unsealing her will appear someday, but probably not in your lifetime. I’m sorry.”

Lucifer hadn’t ever apologized to anyone before, but his expression was sincere. To a mortal, that spell was like death. Even Gods could find time long until their kin awakened again. The knight rubbed his eyes and hugged Shalem tight.

After a while, he picked her up. Resignation tensed the Knight’s expression.

He said, “I don’t know why she saved you, and you aren’t someone I trust, but it looks like Arbiter destroyed the relic you sought. That leaves us at a stalemate for the moment.”

Without the relic, they’d lost their single potential lead to free Sandalphon. It was the only other key than the Almighty’s return to open the tombstone. Belial felt defeat and exhaustion seep deep into her bones.

Lucifer looked down for a moment, the same gravity in his expression. “Will you keep opposing me, Knight?” he asked.

“As long as you threaten innocents, even if I’m alone, I will keep standing in your way,” the knight said, and a smirk tugged at Lucifer’s lips.

They watched the knight carry Shalem away into the setting sun, going to bury her somewhere she could rest in peace. An ancient cult worshipped her at a few days walk away, and perhaps he intended to go to their temple.

Belial flinched when Lucifer put an arm around her shoulders, and he seemed to be in a relatively good mood. He’d found an equal to antagonize him other than the Gods. Belial wasn’t sure what was so amusing to him about that.

“W-what now, my Lord?” she asked, suddenly feeling nervous at the unexpected gesture if that was even a sign of affection coming from him and not just Lucifer using her as a crutch.

They either had to start their research all over again or declare war on Heaven and reach Etemenanki. Lucifer kept delaying that plan and insisting he needed to hear the Flaming One’s voice for guidance. They had won over Mistarcia, so taking over Heaven was the next logical step to Belial, but they kept losing their time for reasons she didn’t understand.

“Have you heard of the Great Witch of the Dark Woods?” Lucifer asked.

Magisa had been living in the Dark Woods for longer than Belial existed. She was at the head of a cult of witches who prayed to a certain Lilith. Witches considered them their savior and a symbol of emancipation. Lilith was an unborn God, which was a rather curious thing to worship.

Mammon, Belial’s former nanny, rather than worshipping Lord Satan, had devoted herself to Magisa's cult and become a nun in their temple. A Demon of Gluttony, becoming a nun living in scarcity and the wood’s wilderness sounded so ludicrous, Mammon had become a running joke amongst soldiers of her House. They called her Ma-nun, the nun with a stomach of gold, and a few vulgar surnames. It had shocked Belial so much, she'd never forgotten about the witches who took her nanny.

“We will raid her temple and kidnap her sisters with her,” Lucifer said, “She’s been elusive about their prophecy for too long, and I need Mammon back.”

"Won't the knight get in our way again if we do that?" Belial asked.

"Nobody cares about the witches, but if he does, I'll be looking forward to his intervention."

It seemed Lucifer had a crush on the only man who could kill him, and Belial wasn't delighted about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer is going to kidnap Magisa, muhahaha!  
> Shalem is just joining GBF canon, don't worry. The knight (adventurer) is sad though.


	24. Chapter 24

Magisa woke up with a start that morning, sweaty and shivering. She got out from under her sheets and felt the bite of the cold air current which whistled through the rooms of the ancient castle. Her bedroom was on top of a tower, usually better isolated than the Covent’s dormitories but still at the mercy of the elements. A prediction of the Elder had prevented all renovation. At least that was going to be possible soon, but that was the last of Magisa’s worries.

“The Serpent,” she mumbled to herself, hesitating if she should light the stove, or join her sisters immediately. A good tea wouldn’t have been too much a luxury given what rough, uncivilized treatment was going to expect her come the night, but all the more reason to share the morning tea with the other witches. High quality leaves were a rarity in these troubled times, and this church was versed into self-indulgence.

Magisa looked out the window of her bedroom; the traps were in place, just enough to tease Lucifer a bit. The less orcs and trolls remained after the battle, the less they would harass the ladies. Really, Lucifer could have just come peacefully and have a tea with them, but he had to cause a ruckus and play the scary, mean Demon. Males. Magisa yawned.

With a flick of her wand, she was dressed and ready. One of her disciples knocked at the door, asking if she wanted to take her breakfast in her room. They pushed it ajar, and a black cat came in, going straight for Magisa and rubbing against her legs. She took it on her shoulder.

Magisa followed the disciple to the mess hall, greeting apprentices working at the house attendance on her way. The younger ones were going to leave before sunset. Now that a small doubt and fear had settled in the corner of Magisa’s mind, Lucifer’s intervention felt more urgent than ever. Sandalphon was going astray, and she wished she could have done something about it without asking for a Demon’s help.

“Good Morning, Magisa,” the group around the breakfast table called. Only the twenty most powerful didn’t plan to evacuate. They weren’t going to go down without a fight, and some of them were itching for action. Magisa would have preferred avoiding damage.

Mammon hadn’t waited for the morning prayers to end to eat. She lived with them to get over her trauma in Pandemonium, but that didn’t mean she’d rid herself of bad habits. At least she’d stopped gnawing the familiars. That kind of behavior was tolerated, but they tried to keep some appropriate table etiquette. Her mouth was full with an apple. Magisa remembered the bad taste from her prediction and looked away.

The Elder was also already eating, too grumpy to salute their suffering Lilith. “Washn’t exshpecting you,” the Elder that could foresee everything said, her mouth full. Against her protests, her disciple wiped the corner of her lips with a flying towel. Magisa smiled and sat down, a bowl of porridge with a spoon appearing in front of her. Nobody was patient enough to cook in this house, and nothing forbade them of using magic for whatever they wanted.

“The snake’s got the Cupid, huh,” the Elder said and Mammon nearly choked on her apple.

Her face was a map of creeks and crooks and cliffs, absolutely unreadable, small black eyes set between narrow slits. Even so, Magisa could see her every smile, every drop of her cheeks and sense every nuance of her mood. She wasn’t in a good shape, and she should have left with the others. Still, she’d insisted, she hadn’t had fun with Demons in thousands of years and wouldn’t have missed that opportunity for anything. Her powers hadn’t gone rusty.

“Should I kick his ass?” the Elder asked.

“Belial might be a key, Mother. We are not trying to influence the direction of the arrow, just to save his soul.”

The Elder grunted and took another spoonful of her porridge. “We can only stay neutral ‘til a point, daughter. Belial’s been a pain in the ass since creation, and I don’t want to see Eve sashay through my burning house holding our Lilith by a leash.”

Magisa rolled her eyeballs. “That, I’m afraid, might be inevitable. Tell us if that’s the prophecy you saw clearest.”

The Elder shrugged and laughed. “May just have been a kinky dream, dunno.”

Mammon nearly choked. “Chew your food sweetie,” the Elder said and Mammon heaved, knocking the apple down.

“So, is Azzie coming?” Mammon asked, “Can I have some fun with him too?”

“No, Mammon, you’re not biting Azazel,” the Elder replied, “You’re protecting me from the Trolls.”

“Aw…”

The preparations went on through the morning. Afternoon come, and they made their prayer circle, hand in hand over a pentagram in front of the statue of the Horned One. Those routine and peaceful moments felt special, because they were the last before a long, harsh battle to Etemenanki. The apprentices and disciples left after that ceremony, tears in their eyes as they threw a last glance at their beloved old castle. The entire area was going to disappear within a few months, blown away if the prophecy told true.

The final cycle was about to begin, and when the sun set, the twenty great witches lit a blue bon-fire and danced around it, worshipping the bearer of the blue flame.

Known to the witches, but their awareness unbeknownst to the Demons, Azazel and his minions had crept into the Dark Forest late in the night, when all of them were usually asleep. They’d set up camp somewhere in a cave after having ousted the eldritch horror that lived inside. Then, they’d waited for the next night to make their move.

This was Azazel’s opportunity to redeem for his failure at eliminating the knight. An easy task, to kidnap a few defenseless females no kingdom or Chosen One protected. Only their leader could have been a handful, but they had a plan. Mammon was fickle and wouldn’t have protected those witches if offered enough of a meal. If Azazel scared them enough, hopefully they weren’t even going to oppose any resistance.

If they attacked her sisters first and managed to take a few hostages, Magisa was going to try to negotiate. His plan was sneaky and flawless. A small troll stood vigil, waiting for all the lights to shut off, and give them the signal. The genius General waited with his troops of Orcs and Trolls close to the Covent’s dormitories, camouflaged and their magical powers covered.

On their tiptoes, the Demons took a few steps behind the main square, out of any vigilante’s sight. It was hard to keep trolls and orcs silent, but they just had to mimic their leader without one knocking the other over. They’d learned to not bicker. One step, two steps, three steps, everything was fine. Azazel sniggered, ready to instill terror within the cute little witches. He took one more ste—

Kaboom.

***

“Lord Michael, we’re too—” Archangel Uriel said.

Michael covered his mouth as he felt bile rise in his throat. He’d seen the first child smeared in blood on the floor, in the arms of a white-gowned woman. Avoiding to stare at the floor, he’d looked up in the direction of the stained glasses, attracted by the light in the darkness. At the feet of those gigantic windows, Arbiter Mortis’ dead followers piled up in small groups.

The Archangels had been too slow at noticing Arbiter’s absence, too late at finding her remains in the destroyed temple. Secretly, Michael had suspicions of why she hadn’t warned anyone, why she hadn’t taken any soldiers with her, and confronted Lucifer on her own. Still, the destruction left behind was senseless. Lucifer alone couldn’t have reduced an entire region to dust. It must have been a God’s work, and he also had his suspicions, and it would have explained why the Speaker of Dawn had banished Shalem. He couldn’t voice any of it without consulting Sahar.

Word of Arbiter’s death had somehow reached mortals before Heaven, and this was the result. Like a cult that had lost its guru, her followers decided to die rather than see the apocalypse they prayed against. These people were extremists, but fear was contagious. If the news kept spreading like wildfire, entire kingdoms could crumble and humans turn against the Gods. Heaven was already in a civil war, Zeus winning. If they lost many of their followers because of a scandal, it would have left the gates wide open for an attack from Satan or Lucifer. Their only advantage was that the two Demons were still at odds.

“Lord Michael,” Archangel Gabriel joined her hands in a prayer, “forgive me for voicing doubt in the House of our Father, but what kind of fear leads to such despair? What could have pushed them to do this if it wasn’t encouraged by their leader?”

She too, without wording it, understood what had happened. As Angels without free will, they couldn’t judge, couldn’t condemn as long as it served the Almighty’s interests. Arbiter Mortis had convinced them Lucifer was evil incarnate, that he conspired against her Church and the Almighty. It wasn’t hard to believe, not with the horrible things he’d done, but those people had chosen to die. She had instilled enough fear in them to go so far.

Michael looked at the central stained glass. It represented the Prophecy of the Ascendant, where the Cataclysmic Angel sat on a golden throne, the Halo of the Highest One over his head. The arrow he held loosely in a hand pointed downwards, indicating there was nobody left above him. His eyes were closed as if in meditation and he was hunching over, resting his arms on his lap. The adepts of this prophecy were dead at the foot of their golden dream.

On the left-most window, the Angel’s wings were gone, and he wore rags, a slave collar around his neck and he was chained by the ankles. His head was hanging down as if defeated. The flames of what seemed to be Hell surrounded him, and a King on his throne towered over the pitiful small frame of the fallen angel. Other Demons groveled at his feet, as if begging for his mercy or demanding a blessing.

“These depictions,” Michael said, frowning, “lack nuance.”

Gabriel pursed her lips, but one they could afford speaking among themselves. They had lost their last-standing leader, so someone had to voice an opinion, even if it was only on paintings.

“It’s a mess,” Uriel sighed, before shouting orders to the other angels, who began picking up the bodies.

Michael glanced at the last image to the most-right, of a twelve-winged Fallen Angel, the Prophecy of the Void. The Temple’s “Savior” had red horns and black wings in this one, aiming for his opponent. Michael felt a chill. That, whatever anyone said or thought, was the Darkest Prophecy. Only Belial could have caused it, but he was dead, so Michael decided to forget about the bad omen he felt at the moment.

“We must warn the mortals in a comforting setting,” Michael said, “We, Angels, must keep standing beside humans, even without the support of the Gods. If they keep faith in us, they won’t panic. Hasn’t Father created us as their guardians and protectors?”

A timid, hesitant smile curved on Gabriel’s lips. “Whatever you decide, Lord Michael, I, Lady Uriel and Lady Raphael will stand by your side. I’m sure Zeus will agree.”

Perhaps, they could keep hoping for a future as long as they kept standing together. And so, Archangel Michael became the General of the Archangels, blessed by the God of all Gods, Zeus.

***

“Oh, you’ve prepared coffee for me, San-chan?” Sahar asked with a bright smile as he saw Sandalphon grinding beans. The small table under the gazebo was neatly set for two.

It wasn’t a common thing to daydream while in a dream, but it took Sandalphon a few seconds to nod with a crooked sideways smile, as if deciding, yes, he was making it for Sahar. None of the preparation was necessary, but it brought them a sense of familiarity and ease. He whistled while continuing his work, something unusual, but Sahar took as a sign of good mood.

There was no logical reason for it; Sandalphon was still held captive, but for once, he seemed to be in one piece. No cataclysmic Sandy to kick Sahar out of the Dreamscape, no needy, wanton Sandalphon glued to his clothes to the point of ripping them off, no pessimistic, unemotional Sandalphon asking him why he’d even show up. Just Sandalphon.

As per habit since their happy days in Eden, Sahar stood behind him, holding his waist and looking over his shoulder. A small delay again in Sandalphon’s movements, but he kept on, humming his somewhat military tune. No rejection, but the grass under their feet had turned purple. Sandalphon didn’t like it, but Sahar liked it, so he didn’t let go.

“Is that a lullaby?” Sahar asked. It sounded familiar, but he couldn’t recall where he’d heard it.

“It’s a hymn to someone special,” Sandalphon replied, his smile growing while he poured the hot water into the filter. “Let me go silly, I have to move.”

Whatever had put Sandalphon in such a good mood was beyond Sahar. Ever since he’d been shut in the dreamscape, he’d acted either aggressive or completely absent. Dealing with a submissive avatar was no fun. Sahar didn’t like the fear in Sandalphon’s eyes. He knew what he was doing to his beloved Cupid was cruel, but that cruelty was necessary.

“Has your last meeting with the congregation been bearable?” Sahar tried, sitting down, Sandalphon leaning over to poor him some coffee.

Sandalphon hummed. “Oh yes, it was a blast.” He sounded honest rather than sarcastic, which was rather strange.

Sahar remembered why he’d come to visit, other than see Sandalphon’s beautiful face animated by emotion and life rather than his sleeping beauty. It was easy to forget reality in a dreamscape. Perhaps creating an avatar of Arbiter was an idea, just a puppet to keep the harsh, mean reality away.

Arbiter Mortis was a cold, stern and strict woman, but Sandalphon didn’t need to know she was wicked and crooked on top of that. He saw her like something of a mother figure, and knowing her dead wouldn’t have done him any good. Sahar put some sugar into his coffee, deciding it would have been a crime to spoil Sandalphon’s mood.

“Arbiter won’t be returning for a while,” he said.

Sandalphon shrugged dismissively. A kiss to Sahar’s temple, shifting to sit onto his lap, and Sahar forgot everything that was odd about his Cupid’s behavior. He hadn’t been this affectionate in centuries, and Sahar had missed it like a starving man would his comfort food.

“Oh, thank Master…” Sahar sighed, setting his cheek over Sandalphon’s shoulder.

“You know, I’ve been thinking lately,” Sandalphon said, “That what you do, you always do it for my Father, right? I mean, for the Almighty.”

Where did that hesitation come from? Of course, the Almighty was Sandalphon’s only father. Sahar, too comfortable holding his lover, preferred to shake the doubt away. Words could twist and bend in a dreamscape, none of it was real and none of it represented much of reality. He could have been hearing and feeling what he wanted to feel, and he wouldn’t have let doubt spoil this beautiful dream.

“Your love, your care, your desires, they will mean nothing to Father when my time comes.”

Sahar lifted his head from Sandalphon’s shoulder, and tried to look at him into the eyes. The face the dream was showing him was a bit blurry. He couldn’t tell much of its expression, just of what feeling seeped into him watching. He felt anxiety, dread. Sandalphon was afraid.

“It’s true that whatever I want is irrelevant, but that doesn’t change how much I love you.”

“Will what I want matter?”

“I don’t know,” Sahar replied honestly. “Are you asking if you can choose your fate?”

Sandalphon took Sahar’s face between his hands gently and leaned in, his breath tickling Sahar’s lips. It was gentle, but he was pulling Sahar to look up while he looked down with a piercing, red gaze.

“Do you know why I can touch you again without feeling disgusted?” he murmured, rubbing a thumb on Sahar’s cheek.

“What do you mean? I disgusted you?”

Sandalphon giggled and nodded.

“I can because I understand you now. I know why you did the things you did to me, on top of being an insensitive clod, and I think I’ve never loved and hated you as much as now before.”

Sahar felt a shiver run up his spine. Those words, coming out of Sandalphon’s mouth, sounded a lot like Eve. They’d call him an insensitive clod, stupid, and other harmful things. He shook away the memory threatening to appear.

“You’re terrified of me because I have the power to destroy your master. Eve made me for that, but you came in the way to suppress my instincts. I believed you were abusing me because you were jealous of my relationship with Lucifer. I thought it was all about me, but no, it was about protecting your beloved master, even if it meant annihilating me.

Now that’s the kind of love and devotion that gives a Cupid butterflies in the stomach, but at the same time, I feel awfully, awfully sick. I may not be Eve’s spare, but oh boy, I’m the Almighty’s.” Sandalphon took a deep breath, and let go of Sahar’s face.

“Who gave you such a ludicrous idea?” Sahar asked, breaking into a cold sweat.

Sandalphon smiled and put a soft kiss to Sahar’s lips before standing up and returning to his seat as if he hadn’t threatened to destroy the world and God.

“A snake whispered dirty little secrets into my ear. A witch asked me what I wanted, and now, I know what I want; I want you to see me, Sahar, see what a wretch you made me into. So, if you love me, you better stop me before it’s too late.”

The snake? Sahar wondered if they were slipping into symbolism, or if Sandalphon was trying to warn him about something serious. It was a threat, but empty threats were typical of the Cupid. He had become a storm of emotions, his dreamscape as unstable as him, trying to lure Sahar into a nightmare. The snake was dead, he’d died under Sahar’s hands.

“I love you, Sandalphon! I am sorry I am putting you through this, but I—”

“Your coffee is getting cold, love. Take a sip.” Sandalphon said, his back turned to Sahar. He sounded calmer all of a sudden, as if resigned. He didn’t want to hear any justifications.

Reluctantly, Sahar sat down again, and took a sip of the coffee: it tasted like a rotten apple. A flash, and he saw hundreds of people stabbing themselves in a church, Belial laughing on top of the altar.

Sahar woke up with a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only 4 or 5 chapters left to go.


	25. Chapter 25

They needed backup. Azazel ducked, a fireball whistling over his horns. Half of the Dark Forest was on fire, and the witches didn’t seem to care about their home, only to send hellfire over the Demon army. They were twenty, twenty little witches with their funny witch hats, sending his two-hundred of Azazel’s men flying and screeching. He bit his knuckle, stifling a frustrated groan.

On the other side of the barricade, Magisa was humming, gently undulating like seaweed, sending off deadly shots as if she were throwing candy. Orcs only knew to attack frontal. They were dumb and slow. Most of them already retreated to bring in the catapults. Trolls on fire ran around, seeming to be the preferred targets of the witches. They had an ancient feud.

Azazel hadn’t managed to kidnap any disciples, take over the dormitories, let alone half of the garden. Lucifer was going to be furious. Belial didn’t seem enthusiastic to throw herself into the battle either, using her spear for nothing more than deflecting killer-beams. If she got hurt, Samael was going to kick his butt. If he lost, Lucifer was going to kick his butt.

The sun was already rising when Azazel and his army were on their knees. Magisa kept standing on her pedestal, looking at them from afar, surrounded by an impenetrable magic barrier. She seemed to be waiting for something, utterly unimpressed, and Azazel knew more of the army was on its way. From that point on, his strategy was exhausting the witches while trying to survive. Cowardly, but, well, Demons used whatever was necessary to win, even dirty tricks. He’d lost his halo long ago.

“Gotchu!” A witch wing curly black hair giggled, and something closed in around Azazel’s throat. Belial charged, but the same magic bound her, and she fell onto her face.

A horn resounded from inside the forest. The air shivered, and suddenly, the two Fallen Angels were on their stomachs, crushed by an invisible force. Azazel’s face was in the mud. Someone gasped as if walloped, and something whirred and screeched.

“Mom?!” Belial squawked.

The spell holding Azazel broke, and he jumped up, rubbing dirt off his face.

Magisa was still standing in her bubble, but her lips were pursed, and she wasn’t dancing anymore. The witch with the curly black hair was on the ground, injured but still breathing. Samael stood next to her, her snake half’s tongue flicking.

A loud buzz and a flash of light blinded him. The barrier broke like glass under Egrigori’s whirling broadsword. “Charge!” Azazel roared. “Get Magisa alive!”

The witches were exhausted at this point, surviving the first wave, the second arriving at sunrise. New traps opened, shooting against the aerial assault. Magisa, surprisingly, stayed in the front row. She was their target, and she was exposed to all of their attacks. If they didn’t attack carefully enough, they might have accidentally killed her. It could have been a strategy to keep the Fallen Angel’s fire low, but if the witches lost their leader, they would have lost everything.

The castle was on fire, wyverns and gargoyles crashing into the towers, trying to avoid thunder and hail spells. Nineteen little witches were giving them a hard time.

“Why’s that dumb bitch staying out in the fire?” Samael echoed Azazel’s question, scales harder than iron over her entire body, shaping into a shield as a beam almost hit them. “Is she making fun of us?” Her snake half changed into her sword. Either slow but extremely resistant or lightning-fast but weakened, she couldn’t throw herself into the center of the battle. Expert in one-on-ones, she was waiting for an opening to surprise Magisa.

Belial stroke a witch down and the thunderstorm stopped. Hail kept falling, and it lapidated her, Samael not offering her a shield. Azazel used his wings, pulling her back into the lines. He wasn’t a guy for tough love or life lessons.

“You, stay back,” Samael said, and Belial hissed but obeyed.

Azazel couldn’t do much either as long as they didn’t find the hail-summoner. Fallen Angels were at a disadvantage because they couldn’t fly in those conditions. If only they just had to kill everyone, it wouldn’t have been as hard, but Lucifer ordered they catch Magisa alive. He’d said nothing about the others, though.

“Find the hailer, kill everyone who stands in the way!” Azazel barked.

Azazel, blown at a distance by a spell, noticed that none of the fire or spells stroke them when they kept at a certain distance. The small radius was strange because it wasn’t in the perimeter a powerful witch’s spell could reach. He also noticed Magisa could have kept aiming for them, but she only hit the Demons who got dangerously close. It made no sense.

“Their strategy’s weird,” Azazel told Egrigori, who seemed to have noticed as well. “Why would she keep herself exposed and not try to wipe us out once and for all? She’s only aiming for our subordinates.”

“Matter of chivalry?” Egrigori mumbled, scratching his chin.

“Well, Azzie,” Samael was bruised all over from the hail, panting from deflecting a thousand spells, and frustrated she hadn’t managed to kill anyone yet, “Maybe she’ll tell you if you ask nicely.”

Azazel took it literally and called, “Witch Magisa, why aren’t you killing us?” Samael face-palmed and rolled her eyeballs. That was a stupid idea to give such an enemy.

“Why would I kill you?” she asked, sounding shocked.

“Because we destroyed your home, hurt your sisters, and are trying to kidnap you,” Azazel said, and Egrigori had to hold Samael back from hitting their General.

“We wanted to refurbish anyways, and nobody’s dead yet, except your men. Couldn’t you just ring at the doorbell and ask me nicely to follow you?” Magisa put her hands on her hips.

“The fuck?” Samael hissed.

“Troops, truce, truce!” Azazel shouted, completely lost.

The hailstorm had stopped, and the sun peeked out of the dissipating clouds. The woods were still on fire, but such silence had fallen that only the crackling of burning wood continued. Everyone was kind of dumbstruck.

“You’re telling me we’ve been through all of this while an invitation would have been enough?” Samael giggled, but there was no humor in her laughter.

“Azazel was planning to kidnap and torture our disciples. I couldn’t let that happen.” Magisa shrugged, still at a safe distance from the group, her sisters standing ready at her side.

“Lucifer’s orders were to bring her to Cocytus by whatever means!” Azazel tried to defend himself as a heaving, red, murderous Samael had turned to him.

“Why then, Azazel, why not just invite her?” Samael asked, her voice quivering and unnaturally low.

“I thought she’d have been too scared to accept! Remember, Sammy, we’re Demons, terrifying Demons!” he yelled in his defense.

Before he understood what was happening, Samael was crushing him and pulling his horns to the point she could have snapped his spine. None of Egrigori or Belial intervened, as if he deserved the abuse.

“That misunderstanding settled, would you still follow us if we asked you to?”

Samael, after gnawing his head a few times enough to put two thin holes into his skull, let Azazel go. The witches had moved to heal their two injured comrades and a few Demons as a diplomatic gesture. They had a horrible history with trolls, so those were lifted by their kind and carried somewhere else. 

He wasn’t looking forward to the trek back home.

***

“And so, he tried to abduct your disciples and hold them, hostage,” Lucifer sighed. Azazel always took orders so literally. Yes, he’d said kidnap, but he meant to give the impression Magisa was forced to go to Cocytus. Witches didn’t want to be associated with Demons –neither did Demons wish to associate with Magisa, but they had similar goals and could help each other. It was a deal with the devil sort of thing, which made them easy targets for religious persecution.

Sitting on his throne, he considered her and could tell at first glance she was desperate. In this situation, she couldn’t keep holding secrets from him. While he wanted to contact Sandalphon by whatever means, Magisa was nothing more than the easy option. No deception, little risks involved compared to asking help from asking the satanic witches through Astarothe. She knew she was less indispensable to him than he was to her.

His only worry was that Astarothe would shop up in the throne room just at that moment and use it as proof he was conspiring against Satan. Whether that was true or not depended on Sandalphon’s choice and if there was a future for the world. The infernal couple was quite useful at times. Take everything cold-headed and hearted, and you’ll survive Hell, Lucifer told himself, dreaming of putting Astarothe through a terrible death. He’d hated Arbiter less because she was insane, not Astarothe.

“We have little time,” he said, “I am not free of suspicion, and your presence here unharmed and free from shackles is uncomely.”

“You’re such a gentleman,” Magisa jeered. “I haven’t seen them coming.”

Perhaps she knew he was under the thumb of Astarothe. The Great Witch could see many things, and that could have included his private life. Lucifer cleared his throat, trying to not think about how far he’d come and how many unnecessary things he’d done to legitimize himself. He didn’t have any excuses ready for Sandalphon.

“Then you must know what I’m about to ask you.”

“About the end of the world? My, the answer is not so simple,” she said. “Prophecies are unreliable information sources, and one can be false or all of them true. In this case, it could even foretell a series of events. We just don’t know in which order they’ll happen.”

Lucifer clicked his tongue. She was still dancing around the subject, and the conversation was starting to feel like an arm-wrestle. They were in the throne room, with his loyalists and counselors, some of them probably spies. He couldn’t speak freely.

“I am asking you about Lilith. What do they have to do with your prophecy?”

Lilith was a safe name to say in the throne room. Nobody there except him and Magisa knew he meant the Blue Flame or Sandalphon. They were limited to guesses without proof.

“In our prophecy, they are the symbol of rebirth against destruction, the opposite of Eve. If Eve is Death, then Lilith is Life. Lilith, by their physical nature, will also represent many other of our values and struggles as witches, but those are details that won’t be helpful to you now, Lord Lucifer.”

As always, it still made little sense, but Lucifer understood that in the witch’s prophecy, Sandalphon probably died or his vessel broke. He didn’t want that.

“Throw her into the dungeon,” Lucifer ordered offhandedly.

Magisa sighed, “And here I hoped that vision was wrong.”

Lucifer replied with a little smile, “We aren’t allies.”

***

Magisa’s head hung between her shoulders, arms shackled to the wall. She barely looked up as Mirin tapped on the bars of her small cell. The trolls hadn’t gone easy on her. Lucifer was out of his mind to put the Great Witch through that and then expect her cooperation. Mirin knew he wasn’t cruel and felt like arguing in his favor as she guiltily stared at Magisa’s ripped clothes.

“They didn’t put you through the Tormentor, did they?” Mirin whispered.

“Mmh, no dear, just dragged me around by the hair. Guess Lucifer told them to go easy on me.”

That was bad enough. Mirin went into the cell and undid Magisa’s shackles, bruises at her wrists. As a mere servant, even known to be loyal to Lucifer, Mirin could enter the dungeon without attracting attention. Lucifer wanted information, so her presence implied she would suck them out of Magisa or invade her dreamscape for answers. That wasn’t exactly what she’d come to do.

She gave Magisa some water to drink and wiped the sweat and dried-off blood from her forehead.

“I’m sure if it weren’t for Astarothe, he wouldn’t have done this,” she whispered. “They are controlling everything he does. Only his dreams and bed are free if you see what I mean.”

Magisa hummed knowingly.

“I’m here to help you two create a bridge. Lucifer’s gonna rest with a few concubines soon. It’s a small window, but how long’s a long dream? Three minutes?”

“It’s powerful magic to get all the way to Sandy,” Magisa warned, “I don’t know if I can make it in this shape and condition without my sisters. Also, there’s a mighty spell in the way.”

“I’ll give you all of my magic power. Lucifer’s Generals are into it too, also tonight’s concubines. Take everything you need, even if it kills a few of us, we don’t mind. Lucifer’s been through so much horrible stuff, death feels like nothing to us in comparison if it means he spends at least three happy minutes with Sandy. Don’t tell him thou—”

Mirin’s breath caught as Magisa suddenly pet her head, smiling. “You really love him.”

Tears welled in Mirin’s eyes. “I do, we all do.”

***

Lucifer’s body felt heavy, and it ached. He saw a dream before the dream, one in darkness. He was looking for the light, any light, but he kept tripping over bodies. He’d killed them, hundreds of thousands, mountains of mortals and Angels. How could he tell Sandalphon about all the horrible things he’d done? Lucifer feared confessions more than he did the Almighty. The curse was still there, and it would never leave, pain always pulling him back in the depths of despair and hatred.

The stain would follow him even deep into someone else’s dream. He wasn’t the Arch Seraph anymore, but a monster. His glow was fake, makeup to cover the evil beneath, the rot, the filth. He enjoyed antagonizing God, destroying His creations. The light was nowhere to be found because none was left.

“What do you want, oh Great Beast?” a voice asked. 

“Lucifer!” It was Magisa’s voice, distant, but he could hear it. “It’s the serpent! Don’t let him pull you in!”

Lucifer wanted the world to end, the pain to end, fall into the fire of the Flaming One, and let it consume him, consume all living things. His hatred would be satisfied with all existence returned to Zero, to the Void.

“Lucifer!” it was Mirin, “This isn’t about what you want!”

Lucifer tried to climb over the bodies, but they were grabbing for him, pulling him down. Pain shot through all of his limbs. This wasn’t a dream, but a nightmare, a terrible one. Arbiter was laughing, her giggles shrill. This was the will of God, she’d repeated. Lucifer struggled to keep lucid, but all he could feel was wrath. To fire with those corpses, to fire with guilt, with responsibilities.

He’d drowned himself in wine, in bodies, laced in warm skin, chasing after hollow pleasures, any small spark to kindle a red flame. Instead, his inner fire remained cold, blue, unsatisfying, chilling him to the bone when he kissed his lovers. Sandalphon, oh Sandalphon, he was so sorry, he couldn’t even express it, but he wasn’t repentant. A means to an end, denial was more bearable.

“Do you want forgiveness?” the same husky voice hummed.

“Never!” Lucifer spat.

“Do you want revenge?”

Lucifer did, on the Speaker of Dawn. He remembered Sahar standing in front of his cell, tearing the last little glimmer of hope out of his life. They knew they all knew what was happening in Pandemonium. Nobody cared. The world was corrupt, ugly.

“Lucifer, please, don’t listen to the serpent!” Magisa cried.

“We can make a little deal, you and me, hm?”

Lucifer remembered that voice. It belonged to Belial, but he was dead. All of this could only have been a dream, inconsequential. The bodies were holding him even tighter, wet, and bony. It reeked, it reeked so bad he felt like gagging. That was the stench of Hell.

“What if I keep the Speaker busy, so you can have your fun-time with Sandy? We can also grant you what you truly desire. Consider it payment on credit; we’ll ask for the price later when we need it.”

“Lucifer, don’t! Stop it! Magisa can handle Sahar!” It was his Belial’s voice. She’d slept with him that night for the first time. He’d never been so surrounded but so lonely at the same time. None of them knew the real Lucifer, the one born in Pandemonium. The Arch Seraph had fallen asleep with Sandalphon and was stuck in a never-ending nightmare.

A luminous figure appeared, holding a bright spear. They were dressed in white robes, flowing like a glowing jellyfish in the abyss, lighting the corpses. The divinity’s face and eyes were precisely like Lucifer’s, but their body was thin and sickly. That was him, the real him, and he kneeled in front of the one who had no equal. They stretched a hand as if offering it.

They didn’t say anything, but Lucifer knew they were Eve. Just like him, they desired the Void, absolute annihilation. There was no future for Demon Lucifer with Sandalphon, only a never-ending curse. He took the hand and felt the soothing cold of death when he kissed it. The contract was complete.

Women were crying. People by the thousands were dead at his feet, all of them wearing the same white robes as Eve, those of Arbiter’s temple. Eve was grinning. “Your promise’s name shall be Asmodeus,” Eve whispered.

“No regrets later, Lucifer.” Belial laughed.

Belial’s laughter followed Lucifer as he fell into the deepest slumber where Sandalphon awaited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm speeding up the writing process. Five chapters left before the ending. I was pretty sure about this chapter that links to another story in writing, those who read the original version (deleted) might guess.
> 
> I'd initially planned to write all six, edit and then publish, but tonight's been such an easy flow, I decided to still publish immediately. My aim isn't to write something perfect or edit to perfection, but to entertain at least a bit.
> 
> I will try to have finished this story by the end of December, if I don't fall sick. We're in lockdown and the atmosphere is quite oppressive. I guess I'm just struggling to distract myself from reality.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	26. Chapter 26

There was a storm at the border of the Dreamscape. Lightning ripped dark clouds over the imaginary Elysian fields while Sandalphon observed it from the comfort of his gazebo. Electricity rushed in his veins, the rumble of distant thunder shivering in his chest. The wind was cold in this dream, as cold as the rocks on which he slept. Sahar’s bridge collapsed, a chain binding them together broke, and two presences faded.

He took a sip of his coffee, and its taste was perfect, bitter, and fruity. Sandalphon flinched in surprise, and the cup slipped out of his grasp. It broke on the white stone pebbles, a black splash on the floor. The stain grew as if the liquid were spurting from underground, a small volcano crater. He licked his lips, and the taste of coffee was still on them. Heat went up to his cheeks, reminded of shared kisses with Lucifer.

A shape was appearing, but he didn’t recognize the energy. It welled up and faded as if someone had puffed their chest in defiance and then lost all of their confidence blown out. The presence weakened, and it had nothing to do with trouble reaching Sandalphon. One couldn’t escape the truths of the Dreamscape, and Sandalphon knew they were afraid of something, but they’d brought the taste of coffee back to him, and he couldn’t be more grateful.

He kneeled and put his hands straight into the stain. It was like oil, sticky on his fingers, and tasted like the coffee he’d forgotten. Like a parched animal, Sandalphon put his face into the liquid and sucked it off from the ground. It recoiled as if startled, but he jumped after the timid blob. He groaned in frustration.

“If you want to give me an offering, then give it!” He yelled.

A wave of coffee splashed on him, and he was giggling in delight, his robes stained and drenched. The energy behind that manifestation was trying to stay hidden, unconfident for some reason, but it gave him what he wanted. Perhaps a Demon, but Sandalphon didn’t mind. The three worlds’ struggles didn’t concern him, but he loved that taste like he loved Lucifer.

“I'm sorry," he heard in the corner of his mind as if that presence had second thoughts.

"Are you an Angel to apologize for no reason? Show yourself, you coward!"

Hesitation again, and it was unnerving. Sandalphon slipped out of his robes, just heavy and useless at this point, and suddenly, the liquid split open from beneath him as if trying to escape. "Come back here!" he shouted, running after the receding wave. If he could have a dream about swimming in coffee, then he didn't want it to stop, ever.

"Is it that I'm naked, is that it? Come on, have people become that prude?!"

It stopped, as a man would in its steps. Sandalphon put his hands onto his hips, standing stable and puffed up to look bigger than he was, trying to make out the shape hiding in the darkness, still cowering. He plunged after the stranger, and it was ice cold in his proximity.

"Why are you rejecting me?" Sandalphon asked. "Haven’t you come to see me?”

And suddenly, a familiar embrace, in complete darkness. It couldn’t have been Sahar, his bridge had collapsed, and Belial was shorter. Sandalphon’s mind went blank, and his entire body stiff. It wasn’t Lucifer’s energy, but that body, those arms, that hug, he could recognize.

“Why won’t you let me see you?” Sandalphon asked, a knot so tight in his throat, just speaking felt like tearing his vocal cords.

He was short of air, drowning, and tears welling in his eyes, the warmer the energy became. It was as if ice held him and then was melting, warming up.

Lucifer had become a Demon, lost his mind, and defied the Almighty. Sandalphon could have forgiven whatever he’d done, even if his reasons weren’t legitimate, but Lucifer wouldn’t show himself. It was unfair after thousands of years. Lucifer was shaking, and Sandalphon felt Lucifer fall to his knees, pulling him down.

“Let me see you, please! I have longed to see you so much, I don’t care if I don’t like what I see, show me why you couldn’t come back earlier! Please, I want to see your face!”

And Sandalphon saw flashes; Arbiter, Pandemonium, some of Lucifer’s crimes, the little boy he had killed, the Knight and his fellow Fallen Angels. He saw the torture and how unkind some Demons were to Lucifer until he became worse than them. Still, Sandalphon could sense he was hiding a lot, but he was content with that much. He kept holding Lucifer, whose heart was bleeding out as if he were confessing and breaking down at the same time.

“And Sahar tolerated all that happen to you in the name of God?” he asked, stroking the wings he couldn’t see. Lucifer didn’t have a reply to that.

Sandalphon sighed. “What would you say if I wash those wings a bit? You feel dirty, so maybe that will help.”

“But they became black. You can’t wash that off.”

“I can wash other stains, and I want to touch you. May I?”

***

Sandalphon remembered when he used to preen and brush Lucifer’s wings, long ago. Lucifer had been bashful, flushed to the ears, flinching whenever his ether tingled a bit too much. Now, there was less of that, a twitching frown and a face that wouldn’t turn Sandalphon’s way, as if pouting. That was his honest expression, something he couldn’t hide in a dream in full light.

Lucifer had lost his Seraphic glow, and his skin paled from living away from the sun, dark circles under his eyes. His physical appearance was part of what he wanted to conceal, but not all. It had taken time to pull him out of that strange void he hid inside, but as soon as Lucifer had stopped shaking, he followed Sandalphon’s lead.

They sat at what Sandalphon remembered most of the thermae, mixed with Lucifer’s heat and water memories. With both of their minds working together, it felt real enough. Sandalphon didn’t search for secrets in the feathers, and he couldn’t quite remember pleasure either, but it was all for Lucifer. In his presence, Sandalphon’s skin felt aflame, sensitive even to the caress of the water. The temperature was rising in the basin and in Sandalphon’s cheeks. He discovered sensuality.

“Is that how a Demon feels?” Sandalphon asked, rubbing deeper into the black wings.

“Not at all.” Lucifer bit his lips and hid his face with a wing.

Sandalphon was a bit confused by Lucifer’s reaction and his own sensations, melting into the wings, feathers tickling his back, chest, and thighs. In his dream world, Sandalphon had given up his, those cursed brown things he hated. Lucifer didn’t ask any questions.

“Do you feel like that with your… Concubines?” Feathers were caressing all over Sandalphon’s ticklish, sensitive skin. He hadn’t ever had that kind of dream before.

“I’m gonna wake up.” Lucifer let out a shaky breath, not replying to his question.

Sandalphon didn’t know what that daring impulsion was, but he knew that they could go much further inside of a dreamscape. Perhaps it was defiance, or an urge, a need. He didn’t like the part about the concubines. Men and women willingly and expectantly spending their days in a boudoir waiting for their king was so strange a concept to him.

“Do you have sex with all of your mates and concubines?” Sandalphon asked, and the wind blew out of Lucifer’s lungs.

“I-I…” Lucifer still couldn’t lie to such a straightforward question, and the truth irked Sandalphon, who put his chest against Lucifer’s back.

“I always felt at a disadvantage with sex. I knew how to give a God divine pleasure, but never how to take. His pleasure was mine until it felt empty and unrewarding. Then, having him between my legs became unbearable… What, are you shocked, Seraph?”

“My perversity is twisting your words,” Lucifer said, “I’m no good influence. We should stop.”

Sandalphon didn’t feel perverted, just slightly upset about not being the first to give Lucifer the sensual tingles he felt all over his body. Lucifer fantasized about sex during the grooming, and in a dreamscape, he couldn’t conceal it, even behind a frown and a twitching eyebrow. Sandalphon hugged Lucifer tightly.

“I love you, and if this is my last beautiful dream before the world ends, I might as well be naughty. I’ll take everything that comes with those wings and that wounded heart of yours.”

Lucifer’s six wings stretched and shivered, Lucifer’s back straightening. “It’s you, only you that can talk to me like that,” he said, a smile appearing on his face for the first time. A bit of his glow had returned.

“Can you give me forbidden pleasure, Your Highness?” Sandalphon asked, excitement growing at the perspective that had become possible. Perhaps Sahar hadn’t ever known real pleasure either and couldn’t share, only knowing copulation as a natural act between mates. That revelation had Sandalphon grinning, and Lucifer chuffed like a tiger, the thought reaching him.

“Better than you ever had,” the proud Beast scoffed.

***

“This hot, it feels this hot?” Sandalphon was panting, straddling Lucifer’s lap. His eyes were glazed over, and a small thread of drool had spread between their lips.

“Never, not for me,” Lucifer replied, honest.

Cocytus was an inferno of ice. His past trysts had begun with a desire to defy God, reaching a shot of forbidden pleasure at the end. It was a royal duty to keep his concubines satisfied, superficial, and purely physical. He did find something in their affections that filled the void in his chest, but it never lit such a fire. He felt like he’d already won the battle to Etemenanki and killed God.

“This isn’t how it feels in real life, but you, you do this to me,” Lucifer said before deeply kissing Sandalphon. “Would you want to become a man?”

“Both,” Sandalphon said, “I would like to feel the pleasures of both genders if I had that option. It’s only an extra device to me, not an identity.”

Lucifer couldn’t make promises, but this proved Sandalphon wanted to live, and Lucifer would fight for that. His commitment to Belial felt like a terrible mistake, thinking of how he could go around it and avoid the unavoidable. More importantly, he was deep inside his lover, giving him everything he desired and showing him more.

“Please, more, more!”

Lucifer also couldn’t get enough. It was breathing energy back into him, the pain of the curse, close to forgotten. He felt cleansed, purified while doing the dirtiest things with this God of Love. Sandalphon wasn’t a little angel elsewhere than in his nostalgic heart, but a God more powerful than Eros and Cupid, one who could strike the Almighty down. He could kill Lucifer, and that turned him on.

“How could Sahar have kept this much from me?!” Sandalphon slammed the back of his fist against the floor, biting his other hand, rocked by Lucifer.

“Because Angels don’t do these kinds of things.” Lucifer smiled against his neck and sucked it hard.

“I am not an Angel! I am a Beast in a Cage!” Sandalphon bit Lucifer’s shoulder.

***

“You’re not getting dressed?” Lucifer rolled a brown lock between his fingers.

They were in the Elysian fields, and even Lucifer could remember the stars as if it were yesterday, the North Star shining brightest, just like him, glowing in happiness.

“Never again. Not in my dreams. I was born naked, and I’ll disappear naked. All of my clothes are going to burn with the fire anyway. Perhaps the flames will consume me too.”

Lucifer wasn’t sure if he should laugh or cry, so he decided to put more kisses to Sandalphon’s face and ignore the sky. He had eyes only for his Sandalphon anyways. The scenery in a dream wasn’t that important, and he wanted to show his lover the real sky, even the one in Hell. It had its own gloomy black beauty.

“So, you decided in what direction you’re going to point your arrow?” Lucifer asked, and Sandalphon nodded.

“I hope I didn’t influence you.”

“You didn’t want to influence me?” Sandalphon rolled to the side with him and put a kiss to his lips.

“No. I wanted to hear what you want before deciding. I wouldn’t sacrifice thousands of my soldiers if you didn’t want to see me again. I’ve made mistakes on the way, you may loathe me for them when you find them out, but I wouldn’t start yet another battle if it weren’t to save you.”

Sandalphon made a face. “Is a war necessary?”

“Sahar and the Angels will do everything to stop Satan and me from reaching you. My army is still smaller than his, but we’ll have to work together if we want the slimmest chance against the army of Heaven that high in the sky.”

“Then,” Sandalphon said, taking Lucifer’s cheeks between his hands, “Listen to my conditions:

I will never be dependent on Man, God, or Demon other than myself. I shall be bound to no lover or obligations I don’t willingly accept. We shall be equals in all rights, duties, and status. If you lock me in a golden cage or a harem, I will shoot you down with my arrow. I shall only give to take, is that clear?”

Lucifer’s face had heated up at Sandalphon’s confidence. It was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. “Astarothe controls every aspect of my life and my concubines,” Lucifer said, “If we can get Astarothe and your rivals out of the way, you’ll be free. If you want freedom in Hell, you must be a Demon and as cruel as everyone else.”

Sandalphon smiled, his cheeks pink with glee. “I’m happy you are so honest,” he said.

“But you are not capable of Astarothe’s evil, so I worry,” Lucifer said, and Sandalphon’s smile grew impish and toothy.

Lucifer saw a small crack appear in Sandalphon’s saintly mask. Something had changed in him, more subtle than Lucifer’s complete transformation. He’d always been affectionate, blunt about his desires, but such a personality with no sense of limits could become dangerous if it took the wrong turn. Sandalphon could destroy God, and he was unhinged.

“The last condition is you never underestimate me,” he said, his voice almost sultry, venom trickling through the splits in his personality. Sandalphon rolled on top of him, dominant, and Lucifer’s breath hitched, put into a submissive pose for the first time. He let his entire body go limp, and Sandalphon chuckled in satisfaction.

“I won’t ever again,” Lucifer breathed. “It’s a deal.”

Lucifer decided to get the Beast out of its cage. Before that, he’d take full advantage of the time they had left together, allowing Sandalphon to take the lead.

Lucifer woke up what felt like hours later, surrounded by sleeping succubus, including Mirin, Magisa half-awake, and holding her head, as if she had a migraine. She grimaced, probably knowing about his deal with Belial. He wasn’t sorry or shameful or anything people hoped from him. In fact, he was glowing, twinkling, sparkling like a Seraph, and the most refreshed in the room.

“I’ll marry that God,” he told Magisa, and she just nodded, snorting disdainfully.

“War it is, then? Can I go home now?” she asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They reunited at last! Why did Lucifer keep hiding in the beginning? He didn't want Sandalphon to see him crying and vulnerable, he had an emotional meltdown and his pride made him act like that. I'm not sure if that was clear enough.
> 
> Thank you for reading! I've fallen deep into the Genshin Impact fandom recently, and have been distracted by short fics I've been writing and art I drew, but you can be 100% sure this story is going to end by the end of December. I'm begging for your patience, but it will be rewarded.


	27. Chapter 27

Lucifer had called up a war council, and his audience wasn’t reacting quite as he’d hoped, but he couldn’t blame them for putting their interests first. He’d created the system and the culture that was impeding his plans. The horde mattered, but each House had its own interests to defend.

All of the Fallen Angel Generals, the Rulers of the Houses, and a few high-ranking representants of the military and Hell’s nobility had gathered around a table. Chairs of various shapes and sizes seated the Demons. Lucifer was arguing in favor of a large-scale frontal attack on Etemenanki.

If the expedition failed, Cocytus could lose its entire army at once. If the Apocalypse happened, neither military nor Cocytus would remain. Their hands were tied between a possible suicide mission and passive death. Satan listened to his arguments in silence from his dark throne, Astarothe seated on the smaller throne beside him, as statuesque and immobile as their husband.

“Can’t we simply let Sandalphon wake up and destroy whatever he wants?” Egrigori, the representative of the House of Sloth, asked. The Lord and Ruler of the House, Abaddon, nodded in assent. “The God’s best interest is to get rid of our King, so His Majesty might as well become Sandalphon’s target if he joins the frontline,” the three-headed Demon added.

“Sandalphon doesn’t know or care about our King. He fed, healed, and housed one of our kind, even knowing she could have been his enemy. He welcomed me, foul and corrupt as I am now, with open arms in the most intimate space of his mind. Everything else than his target will be collateral damage,” Lucifer replied, as calm as a frozen lake.

He’d called Satan’s possible death collateral damage, and only Beelzebub noticed it enough to clear his throat and buzz. Perhaps Lord Satan as well, but he had no face to grimace with, only his eyes slightly squinting. It was an insult to the King that the Cataclysmic Angel did not know or fear him, while Lucifer had all of his respect.

Egrigori’s empty look told Lucifer something a bit more honest: he didn’t want to be at the place the world was about to end during the Apocalypse. It was like being expected to stand right under a bomb. He’d rather have been enjoying his life the best he could until the end and not have invested himself in the most massive battle in Demon history.

“And you want _him_ as your first Nephilim spouse if I got that right?” Samael’s snake part’s eyes were glowing.

Directly under Satan who ruled the House of Wrath, Samael was speaking in part for him and herself. She was thinking about Belial, about her own interests and rank and pride. She couldn’t snap at Lucifer, not raise her voice, so the negative energy oozed out of her like a fountain. The bulky stone serving to support her snake form as a seat cracked like a shell under her angry squeeze.

Astarothe said, “It is only speculation for the moment, but if he survives, the vessel has no value to us if it’s drained from its fire. We will kill him if it’s necessary to take the flames.”

“Does anyone else have an important subject we might not have approached to bring up? Speculation is hesitation,” Lucifer asked, brushing off Astarothe’s public threat. They knew that Angel was his one weakness, a device Arbiter used to destroy him, and they were going to use it against him at the first opportunity, but for the moment, the threat was empty and unrealistic.

Azazel was cross-armed, and his eyes flitted nervously as he thought. He was the General of the House of Pride, under Lucifer’s command. Fallen Angels always had an involvement in a House, even if it wasn’t in the highest ranks. To Satan, he’d failed as a General and lost his title to the fiasco with the human Knight. Still, Lucifer gave him the right to consult and advise during such assemblies and keep his domain.

“Have you thought of what happens if the flames consumed him, or if he’s unable to think at that moment?”

Several of the assembly members agreed, others more hesitant.

“We won’t be able to control what he does. He might not even be able to control himself, but we have the power to choose what we do,” Lucifer said, putting his hands on the table and standing up. “Do you want to be sitting here while the Almighty decides our destinies for us?

Even sealed and asleep, Sandalphon is still fighting while we have all of our power and debating if we should protect our lives and kin! What are we? Cowards? Weaklings who can’t even match a sleeping greenhouse flower?!”

Most Demons hated being called cowards, weaklings, even worse. Only those of the House of Sloth just yawned at that accusation. Cowards, weaklings, whatever, just let them sleep! One of the more violent Lords chuffed, blowing steam out of his nostrils. No, he was most certainly not a wimp, neither his proud kind! Orcs weren’t weaklings or flowers or cowards!

“We exist with the sole purpose of challenging God. As long as we are alive, we can plague and curse the world the Almighty created! If challenging God means stopping him from completing a cycle, then we will! It is not about doing good or bad. It’s about fighting for ourselves. We will destroy this world with our own hands, or take it from the Almighty.”

Satan grunted in approval, Astarothe throwing him a sideways glance. He believed he could control the Blue Flame, and all he needed was a bigger army. If Lucifer was in line with his objectives, then he could agree with his plan. In the end, he was going to take over the world.

“Has Sandalphon ever had control over his life? No, and he’s been raised to be the Speaker’s thing, to yield, to never question whatever he endured in the name of God. He was locked in Eden, alone and unaware of the world and freedom. Sandalphon went as far as to pluck his own wings to punish any slip of his mind!

But there he was when we met again, ruthless and divine, setting conditions I couldn’t refuse, aware of his power. He put me to my knees in awe. He rejected his holiness, his sanctity, denied he was an Angel, and cut all ties with the Speaker. I had done nothing to convince him, said nothing to corrupt him, but he’d rebelled. He must have suffered like we our curse!”

Azazel knew that Lucifer was theatrical to convince his audience, but he was curious about how the little Cupid had become. If that Angel put Lucifer to his knees, whatever that meant, then he must have been terrifying! Terrifying was great for a Demon.

“Astarothe, you’re refusing to put the first Nephilim of creation as my spouse. What better representant could Nephilim hope for than the Forbidden Fruit itself? He was born from its seed, and probably the first sin committed by a God.

Samael, I know your ambitions, but do you wish for your only child to become the ruler of the House of Lust? If she becomes my wife, she’ll be bound to that House by the Flaming Pit's succession law. If she waits or becomes my mate, she will have similar privileges with fewer obligations.”

Samael grimaced at the thought. Belial was a proud warrior, not a lascivious, languid, sex-obsessed Succubus. It was the only House still waiting for a ruler for a few reasons. It was also different from any other in its archaic customs, more demanding, and viewed by many Demons as minor.

“Warned her you’d break her heart, but the fool is young,” Samael grunted.

Satan stood up from his chair and simply said, “Let’s wake the Apocalypse up.”

***

A celebration before the departure seemed unavoidable, and Lucifer had graciously joined them. As if he had any choice. Samael observed the entire clown show with a glass of wine near her lips and her husband’s knee against her serpentine thigh.

Satan had conveyed the entire nobility around the royal table for a speech over a feast. It was a tradition for everyone to remain loud and raucous, the room, absolute chaos of drunkards, and brawling groups. He just had to make sure he was louder and scarier than everyone else. A servant might die in the process.

Just one short reunion with the harbinger of Apocalypse and Lucifer was glowing like a firefly in mating season. He didn’t mind the people, the noise, the flying cups, and punches or the horny concubines this time. His head was empty, Sandalphon only.

Samael rolled her eyeballs, not caring if anyone could guess what she was thinking. Boy, Belial wasn’t going to like Sandalphon if he survived. Both of them immature hotheads, one too snarky and the other too sensitive. To the concubines, he was nothing else than another rival to deal with. The naïve Angel wasn’t going to have it easy, even with Lucifer’s protection.

She might have been the only reasonable adult in Hell and seen that Lucifer’s project to marry that shrimp wasn’t going to go well. Perhaps no Apocalypse at his awakening, not whenever Eve shows up, but once he would be fed up with the harem’s bitches. He had the freedom to accidentally kill some, but probably not the balls. For Samael, more cigars to go, more worries to forget. Not like she should care about whatever the fuck would happen to that poor Cupid.

“You’re fidgeting,” Egrigori whispered, and indeed, the snake’s head was bobbing under the table and slightly shaking it without anyone else noticing. Damn, she’d almost forgotten her husband’s presence, even with his hand on her scaly lap.

“I need a smoke,” she grunted. The snake-unsuited chair was giving her a tension headache.

Egrigori made a face. Perhaps he needed one too, but he took a long sip of wine from his skull-shaped cup instead. “Things never go smoothly when you’re this nervous before a battle.”

“Heck, seems like I have a third eye,” she snorted.

When Egrigori noticed that sort of thing, generally, he was right, but she wanted to deny it.

Satan cleared his throat. Just like Lucifer, when arguing in favor of war, he was one for theatrics, for boasting, a showman when talking to his people. His attitude tended to irritate the introverted but efficient General.

Satan wasn’t the brightest, but Astarothe always had an eye on them. Astarothe probably also had a plan for the blue flame. They were too calm, too open during the war meeting. This entire expedition was going to be a shitstorm until the end.

Samael only half-listened to Satan’s rant, sorry, speech about winners and losers, his successes, and how great Cocytus had become thanks to him and his concept of the Houses. Fake news, man, it was Lucifer’s idea. Many would lose their lives “in the name of honor, Demon’s and Nephilim’s pride.” Lucifer had said it was for change, even if it was disastrous, not for nationalism. He was the Devil, their regime was authoritarian, but at least he wasn’t a fascist.

“We leave for Etemenanki tomorrow!” Grand roar, yell, applause. Oh, the speech was over. The brutes sang for battle, for blood, for evil, raucous and dumb, wine spilling from skulls like blood. Both of Samael’s heads were aching, but she still drank. At least she had Egrigori to rub her back.

***

“You refuse the pleasant company of your consorts even though you’re heading to battle?!” Astarothe sounded shocked, upset, even.

“I want to avoid any distraction before we leave,” Lucifer replied.

“None of your concubines has spawned an heir since your first commitment! If anything happens to you, who will rule the Edgelands and the House of Pride?”

Refusing a duty in front of Astarothe’s suitors was an affront and could be interpreted as disloyalty. Lucifer owned a vast domain, had servants, knights, and an army. All of it officially belonged to Satan, Lucifer just a knight. In private, his refusal would have been met with less diplomacy. Astarothe tried to keep face in front of their courtesans.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“No, I would never, my Lord. I need to keep focused on my strategy, not to indulge in pleasantries.”

Astarothe’s mouth opened and closed, holding the back of their hand against it, near to biting their knuckles.

“Does your nerve have something to do with the witch who mysteriously disappeared from the dungeon? You know, nothing escapes my Tormentor’s eyes! I’m even surprised you were dumb enough to confess your little excursion from last night.”

They could have as well held a knife under his throat, but he wouldn’t back down, not when he knew he was absolutely essential. He wanted to see Astarothe upset and powerless at least once before he put them out of the picture.

“She helped me reach Sandalphon indeed, but my nerve is mine alone. Fallen Angels aren’t the most fertile creatures, and Arbiter broke me throughout. If the objective of laying with your select few tonight is to have a child, you’re expecting a miracle.”

They didn’t have anything to answer against that. All Lucifer said was fact and verifiable. His concubines weren’t the type to cheat and not try to fall pregnant. They were doing everything to have children who could access his power. They’d tried potions, quickies, sex marathons, about every position with every species. He really didn’t want to think about it.

“Now, Lord Astarothe, is it about official duties or comforting a few nervous consorts of your selection?”

Some muffled sniggers echoed through the dark arches.

“You will regret tonight’s audacity if you manage to bring the vessel back alive!”

“If my attitude displeases you, my Lord, why not complain to your husband or cut me down here and now?”

Astarothe threw their arms in the air and turned their back on him. He’d won, and only being with Sandalphon felt better than see Astarothe leave, defeated and angry.

***

They were tens of thousands of Demons, Fallen Angels, and Nephilim gathered in the vast plains of the Edgelands. Far in the front, the smaller creatures were like ants compared to Behemoth and Astarothe’s original form. The giants followed them from a distance where the quakes and whirlwinds couldn’t reach them, but they stood tall like mountains.

Satan was seated on top of a flying ship on his throne, the other vessels flanking and rearing him in a diamond formation. He was too proud to put Lucifer at the front, so his air-force flanked the king’s, ready to move in front only to serve as shields if necessary. Harpies, Wyverns, and other demonic flying creatures followed them atop and below.

The sky must have been preparing as well, the Gods looking down on the borders of Hell. They were part of the prophecy and the skies only waiting for a signal Lucifer didn’t know about. Archangel Michael would probably meet them on earth first, and they’d have to fight their way up. Most of the fire would fall on human towns and cities if the Gods didn’t save them. Lucifer doubted Michael would abandon them like Arbiter had, much more valorous and dedicated to good.

He hadn’t known his Adjutant well but knew his heart was pure. If Michael chose to protect humans and avoid as much collateral damage, their battle would begin in the sky. Convincing the Gods to give the Demons an advantage though, was close to impossible. They’d instead rain their fire on a world that could be reborn than risk losing Etemenanki like they’d lost Pandemonium.

Lucifer wondered where Sahar was and what was going through his head at that moment. He could imagine the Speaker watching them from Etemenanki, believing himself out of their reach. That belief would soon fade and give place to concern and panic. Sandalphon must have upset him, tolerating Belial and letting the Avatar cut all their ties.

He worried for Sandalphon. What desperate measures could Sahar take if he understood he couldn’t stop them or the prophecy from happening?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the transition in voice between Lucifer's POV and Samael's is rather... Brutal lol
> 
> I've commissioned an artist for the art of the last chapter, and think I'll publish it at the end of December or mid-January. It's coming close. I don't think I'll make the battle + the last part very long (even though I could, but that's not what interests me most.)
> 
> What's the future of this series? I'm not sure yet, but I want to tell you more about Cocytus and the Houses in the future. Most of this story is my original story, so it's worth exploring the world a bit more.


	28. IV - PATH OF PROVIDENCE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for brutal Major Character Death (no1)

The Creation Gods were sleeping among the stars surrounding the top of Etemenanki, twinkling through the glass ceiling. None of the tumult approaching the Elysian Fields could stir them awake, only the call of the Almighty. Its guardians, Neptune, Mars, Venus, shone brightest and were watching battles unfold and end. The Great War was far from over.

Earth looked like it had already been through the Apocalypse, no civilization left grand enough to stand in Lucifer’s way. Humanity hadn’t been wiped off its face but returned to the Dark Ages, same as when Eve was banned from Heaven. Only Orleans still stood, but their armors were rusty and their men tired. Most had abandoned all hope, and the Gods have chosen no Hero to stop the savage hordes. Behemoth had been through those deserted lands, destroying kingdoms in a breath, continents with a howl.

Nobody alive could remember how or why it had begun. The Holy Empire’s Church had fallen, its leaders burned on the stake by revolting populations like they had once witches and their enemies. Cults prayed to soothe the Apocalyptic Angel Sahar had failed to contain. Kings said Sandalphon appeared in their nightmares before their kingdoms fell, the messenger of the collapse of civilizations. Once the guiding light of the Holy Church, he’d become a warning for catastrophe.

Once Gods reached the highest spot in the sky, everything seemed so far away that they felt untouchable. They wouldn’t move for a planet that was bound to disappear, waiting for the renewal of the cycles to create again. Angels fought alongside humans, but once humans lost faith, they couldn’t do much anymore.

Zeus kept an eye open from the top of his celestial seat. Sahar could feel his gaze in his back as he laid half of his body over the stone that contained Sandalphon. Sahar hadn’t moved from that spot since the day Sandalphon shut him out. The unimpressive vessel contained in that stone was nothing more than a device. Zeus was closer to humans than any of his comrades and might have seen some weakness in Sahar’s behavior.

He wasn’t a leader, only a Speaker, and his master was gone. There was nothing to share with men in the silence of the skies. His last mission was to protect Sandalphon from the rebellious sons, but he’d failed. All he could do was wait for his master to return, watching the chaos unfold on Earth. Lucifer had reached Heaven, and his army was at the doors of the Silver City. Still far, far away.

“Comrade,” Zeus called from his shining throne, “Will you fight at my side for your beloved if they reach us?”

Sahar chuckled without humor. He could have destroyed the Earth with his own hands if the Almighty had ordered him to do so, stopped Lucifer’s army with little effort. He’d not have allowed them to get so far. Angels were dying defending the Silver City.

“You misunderstand,” Sahar replied. “He is precious to my Master and has an important role to play in this cycle’s Grand Finale. My responsibility ends once he awakens, and Master reaches his objective.”

Zeus was one of the Gods who knew love, and he understood humans better than Sahar ever did. He confused sentimentality with devotion. In a sense, he wasn’t entirely wrong; Sahar would have preferred Sandalphon to never awaken. His awakening meant more than an eventual Apocalypse. The world could end; it meant nothing to the Gods. Sandalphon could disappear. His life and happiness were meaningless compared to his use. Still, something ached deep inside of Sahar’s body.

He couldn’t move, think, sleep, hope. Sahar could only lie against the cold stone, wishing it would never open. Begging the Almighty to reconsider was vain, and Sandalphon had rejected him long ago. Thinking of Sandalphon’s face only worsened that ache, and whenever he let his mind wander, he always returned to Eden.

On those beautiful, regretted days, Sandalphon would brush and braid Sahar’s hair, arrange flowers in the locks and gush how handsome he looked with a crown of Morning Glories. He’d watch Sandalphon dancing in the grape press with Shalem, his laughter like the bells of Heaven, legs and white robes drenched in the red nectar. The sweet smell would return to memory, the juice tasting like kisses at the tip of his tongue. Sandalphon was the fruit of temptation, but Sahar believed the best resistance was to yield. There was nothing foul, sour, or poisonous inside of his Cupid, not in his love or under his golden skin.

Sahar’s body would move by itself, caressing the cold, hard stone, yearning for Sandalphon to reply. The gates of Eden were closed, and so was Sandalphon’s heart. Sahar had already made a fool of himself, begging for forgiveness. All Sandalphon showed was his silhouette in Lucifer’s embrace, moaning in pleasure. Petty, poisonous revenge. Sahar shouldn’t have felt anything about it. Perhaps it was sentimentality because it had petrified him like Medusa’s stare.

He was tempted to fight Lucifer, to reclaim Sandalphon, and even oppose their Father, but that was the influence of the fruit of temptation. He shouldn’t have peeled off the white robes and tasted it, grown addicted to Sandalphon’s heat under his skin. The fruit of temptation was evil by nature, and Eve knew Sahar’s weaknesses. They’d created a creature that would bring Heaven to its fall, the Blue Flame only a distraction for Gods and Demons alike.

Sahar hated Sandalphon a little, for a while. Being rejected for the first time was the most pain he’d ever endured. As immobile as stone, he’d mourned his loss and failure. He’d lost his battle against the shape Sandalphon’s determination had taken because Belial was dead, and no magic could summon such an Avatar into someone else’s mind. Sandalphon had rebelled, that Avatar nothing more than the forbidden fruit’s cunning nature.

“At what moment have you rotten so, old friend?” Zeus asked Sahar.

The Speaker had moved, startled by the question. He wasn’t rotten; Sandalphon was!

***

“Uuuh shiiit. Uuuuoooh shiiiit.” Samael was holding her sword tight, barely having survived a deadly blow. Above her, the flaming Archangel Michael. She felt sick to her stomach.

A thousand-year war had put an end to her smoking. Either she still had withdrawal symptoms or was fucking pregnant again. Morning sickness. Fucking Egrigori, fucking fertile Seraph, that wasn’t supposed to fucking happen. The proud warrior would rather be pregnant than afraid to die.

Her entire battalion had fallen to that one single Archangel. Other legions had told about their encounter with the leader of the Archangels. He asked to talk to Lucifer each time and where he was. Naturally, nobody would respond. The Lord of the Edgelands was not on the front-line. “Has he no pride as a ruler?!” Michael asked, and that’s the last thing survivors could report.

Nope, Lucifer’s pride was different, and on another level. If he had stood on the front line like the human Kings to prove his valor, he wouldn’t have been as prideful. A Demon of Pride was the type of ruler who only showed up to see his enemies already defeated. Meanwhile, he read a book from the top of his throne. Only those he considered his equals had the “honor” of a duel with a well-rested Lucifer.

And Samael was going to die because of that.

She didn’t register Michael’s question, too taken by her defensive stance. All of her men were dead, and Egrigori on the sidelines with Lucifer, strategizing or whatever the fuck those two were doing. They were close, so close to the Elysian fields, she could smell the flowers. Strangely enough, it reminded her of Sandalphon. Perhaps she was closer to him than she thought.

“W-what?” she croaked, readying her fight or flight strategy.

“You are Belial’s sister, aren’t you?”

He was conversating before killing her like a cat would a bird or an eagle a snake. “Yeah. What was he to you? He give you a reason to kill me?”

Michael frowned, not loosening his guard either. “In Arbiter’s and Sahar’s absence as our leaders, I apologize for all you’ve been through.”

She almost dropped her sword. “Hello? Hello?!” she yelled, feeling heat burst up her head. She was going to kill that piece of shit. “You need to be this close,” she gestured, “to losing to fucking apologize?! Thousands of years of slavery and persecution, and you think saying sorry because you have no other fucking choice is enough?!”

His eyes narrowed. “Heaven has lost its way without our Father to guide us. I will take full responsibility for our mistakes once we free the Nephilim from Lucifer’s evil influence, but you are still our enemy, so I must demand you surrender, or you shall perish.”

Her jaw had dropped. The entitlement! Gods, Angels, humans, all of them only deserved Hell. “My people are free and content! Kicking your butt is our choice, not Lucifer’s!”

It was great he’d upset her; wrath was her fuel. She could take on such an arrogant Angel. She could take the entire army on if she wanted!

“Can you reply to one question before we fight, though?” she asked between her teeth.

“Fine. I’ll listen to your last request.”

She huffed through her nose. “Why has Sahar chosen Belial and I to live with him in Eden? You must know, don’t you?”

That question made Michael pause. Michael, as the ruler of the Archangels and closest knight to Zeus, must have known. He was the last of the Creation Gods still awake and their current leader. He might have been the last person to hear the Almighty’s voice with Sahar. She didn’t care about Sandalphon, her only objective to destroy Heaven, but that question had been haunting her for thousands of years.

“You are all part of the Grand Finale. Without you, Lucifer wouldn’t have ever become as powerful as he is now.”

Her jaw dropped; they’d been used. The Gods had predicted and orchestrated everything from the beginning of Creation to lead to this thousand-year war. Earth was nothing more than a bridge, human lives a necessary sacrifice, Sandalphon’s and Lucifer’s suffering a means to an end. She needed to get out of this battle alive and warn Lucifer before he reached Etemenanki.

Samael’s bad omens were often right. The day her brother had died, she’d looked at him slip into his white uniform and held insistently to his sleeve. They’d both been used and abused since their creation, and she’d developed a hypervigilant sensibility to their surroundings. Samael’s beauty tended to attract the rotten apples of Heaven, and she knew when kindness was interested. She listened and watched everything with wide eyes and ears.

“Don’t go,” she’d said, “Lucilius is using you. He’s up to no good!”

He’d clicked his tongue and caressed her cheek fondly. “No, he isn’t. He’s trying to do something for us, and I’m helping him. You’ll see, we’ll have a new friend.”

“People never do stuff for us,” she’d mumbled, “He’s just doing stuff for himself!”

Belial had laughed. “True, true, but he’s still our Messiah. Don’t forget he’s your boss, Sammy.”

Their conversation had gotten nowhere, but she was right to worry. She found Belial’s beheaded serpent form dangling on the branch of the Tree of Knowledge on the same night. Lucilius had reclaimed his name and independence, turning his back on the Almighty. Or so she’d thought. If Belial hadn’t died, she wouldn’t have fallen and become Lucifer’s ally.

“I shall not be the tool of Providence anymore!” she roared, leaping to fight Michael.

Soon enough, she understood she couldn’t warn Lucifer. What could a wretched, junky of an old serpent do against the most powerful of the Archangels by herself? Strange though, to feel sad rather than angry when a blade cut her in half. Sorry to not be with her daughter or Egrigori anymore. Horrible, horrible mother, but well, mom was in half and dying, nobody to say goodbye. Perhaps Egrigori would be motivated to fight for once when they found her, but well, that was also part of the Grand Finale.

Her miserable role had been completed with no reward at the end.

***

Egrigori had screamed so loud, Azazel could hear him over the sound of his sword crossing with Uriel’s. He took advantage of the distraction to retreat. Their army was failing against the four Archangels, and he couldn’t lose an entire legion against just four opponents. Stupid Samael had gone forward a bit too fast, and the Archangels took advantage of the gap between two squadrons.

“Retreat! Retreat!” he’d roared, flying as fast as he could to escape Uriel and save Egrigori, whatever had made him scream so loud.

Their opponents were so “valorous” they let the survivors escape. Uriel had already sheathed her sword, and Azazel joined Egrigori without a hassle.

“How dare you?!” Egrigori hissed before Azazel understood what was happening, “How dare you call for retreat!? We haven’t lost yet!”

Azazel noticed Egrigori was holding the half of someone burned. Someone had cut Samael in half and burned her like a witch! He gagged and looked away. The body turned to ashes, and Egrigori whined, curling onto himself.

He was mumbling something unintelligible, but Azazel, even with his own heart torn and twisted, couldn’t allow Egrigori to die on the spot or be made a prisoner. He lifted the other Demon up to his shaking legs and feet. “We have to return to Lucifer and change our strategy. We have to warn your daughter too.”

“C-change strategy,” Egrigori whispered to himself, nodding. “Gotta tell Bel. We’ll kill them all, won’t we?” he asked, his face twisted with rage.

The Demon of Sloth hadn’t ever looked so determined. He was now motivated to fight, staying on the sidelines until this happened to his mate. “Lucifer better get out of his nest. I’m going to kick him out of there.”

Azazel searched in the ashes and found a small, dark stone. It was Samael’s deceased core, all a dead Nephilim left behind. He put it into Egrigori’s hand. “We’ll get to Etemenanki in her name, I promise. Her death will bring the necessary rage to our troops. Her wrath stays with us.”

With the motivation to fight and win, Azazel knew Egrigori was unstoppable. Azazel’s cause was to bring victory and Sandalphon to Lucifer. He wanted his King to find solace, and his devotion was powerful enough to keep holding on against Uriel. The only reason Samael could have allowed herself to die was she’d lost her reason to fight.

“Her wrath stays with us,” Egrigori said, putting a kiss to the dead core.

***

Lucifer’s heart was heavy as he stood at the front of his battleship. Samael wasn’t going to be able to see their last battle. Egrigori had been inconsolable but burning with a desire for vengeance. He’d made up a strategy by himself, listing up all of the Archangel’s elemental abilities and weaknesses. They’d never been as analytical, Satan going as far as praising the Lord of Sloth to Beelzebub’s annoyance.

The Four Archangels were stationed on another battleship that stood between Lucifer and the Elysian fields. He was going to fight Michael, Satan Gabriel, Egrigori Raphael, and Azazel Uriel. The Four Archangels together were impossible to defeat, but the Demons could win if they isolated each Archangel into duels.

Michael had powers that aimed at weakening his opponent before sending a strong fire attack. Lucifer had a high resistance to magic and debuffs, and he knew Michael’s fighting style. His disadvantage was that it was the same on the other side. Their powers were similar, but Lucifer had an advantage in brute physical force and wasn’t sensitive to fire.

“Don’t forget; our objective is to get to Sandalphon alive. If our legions can push through the Fields to the tower, our sole opponent will be Zeus and eventually Sahar,” Lucifer had said to the gathered Generals and King in the Royal Battleship.

“ _Only_ Zeus and _EVENTUALLY_ Helel Ben Sahar,” Azazel snorted.

“Bring ‘em on,” Egrigori hissed.

“Don’t let the heat go up to your head!” Lucifer snapped, “That’s the last thing we want! They killed Samael to break our morale and disable you, Egrigori. They know how strong you are. I lost my self-control when the Cupid’s arrow struck me, and Arbiter exploited my weakness. We’ll celebrate and mourn her as soon as we can, but now, keep your head cold and high!”

“Yes, my Lord!”

“Pft, Fallen Seraphs, and their dumb sentimentality,” Beelzebub sniggered but lowered his head when Satan glared at him. The King had lost one of the most important Lords of the House of Wrath he ruled.

They had only one frontier left to cross, Lucifer thought. He looked at the flat horizon, ready to give his army the signal. Still, he took some time to look at the faraway shimmer of Etemenanki, standing like a golden spear at the end of the Elysian Fields. It pierced through the last clouds and scraped the top of the sky, glowing with the rising sun.

One frontier and a long climb upwards were all it would take until he could reunite with Sandalphon. He would count the number of times the sun would set and rise, count them as the days before the end of the world.

“All into position!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you start understanding what's happening now? o___o Yeah, I'd been scheming this from the beginning. Scream at me in the comments if you want. Sorry about Sammy, I really loved her too, but her death is motivated by the plot too. 
> 
> Sorry also for being so, so, slow around the ending. Honestly, I'm also complaining at myself, but a lot is going on and my brain won't always cooperate.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tiny bit of drama in the foot notes to explain why it took so long.
> 
> Also, artwork I did of Samael (RIP) :
> 
> [Samael Art](https://twitter.com/NanosFics/status/1347229033826758658/photo/1)

“Even if you must escape an opponent, never stop moving forward. We must reach Etemenanki!”

Etemenanki was the light at the end of the tunnel. Egrigori could only keep moving forward, even as the darkness in his heart threatened to drag him straight back to Hell. He struggled with the physical sensation of Samael’s charcoaled body turning to dust between his arms and the smell of burnt flesh.

Worshippers of the Blue Flame, of the _Lilith_ , had joined their forces at the last moment. Magisa’s order had caught up with the Fallen Angels, following them from afar since the beginning. They didn’t demand protection or offer any strength, only asked to follow in the last row and help unseal Sandalphon. Lucifer had ordered to use the wretches as shields if the battle turned in their disfavor. Extra weight to drag behind, but whether they survived or died was none of Egrigori’s concern, or of their army. 

The hordes advanced in the fire, shields lifted as arrows by the thousands fell from the sky. Many fell. They, too, returned to dust, consumed by red flames or a strike of a sword. The Demons were like a swarm of maggots crawling under divine light, giving their last breath in the name of the End. Above and around, in every element, the four Archangels fought back with all of their might.

The Black Witch’s forces, led by Beelzebub’s wife, threw curses and spells which looked like streaks of blood drawn in the black sky. Angels fell, their wings rotten, devoured by beasts below. Hades, his dark crown glowing as he rode his flying black steed, sliced through lines of Cupids and Dominions, rows of Nephilim at his tail. Canons shot beams of dark essence. Their noise was deafening.

Fighting against the army of Angels was like fighting against a condescending high wall of virtue. When white magic struck a Demon, they called it purification. The victims popped into glitter like fairies, destroyed by the love of God. Egrigori found it more humiliating than dying under fire and steel, worse than going through Pandemonium a second time.

Raphael kept standing in his way, with the pity of trying to cut him into pieces with wind blades, rather than with love he’d never wanted. Elemental Archangels used the powers of nature; she a wind-wielder. She had short blue hair, golden eyes, and her physical resemblance with Samael from before she fell was striking.

He remembered the awkward, uncomfortable Nephilim peering at him from behind Belial. Her hair was blue and glowed like Raphael’s, and she stood on two lovely, long thin legs. She’d never been stable on them, clumsy and tumbling, often “accidentally” kicking into Sahar’s shin. Egrigori bit his tongue, chasing her image out of his mind, moving forward, forward, even if it killed him, pushing Raphael to her limits.

He didn’t care for the Archangel to die or to live. All he had to do was reach Etemenanki. No magical turn of fate would release them from their enemies, but if he got to that place, Samael would be proud. Her core was encrusted in a collar around his throat. If someone wanted to take her from him again, they must cut his head off first. At his brief seconds of distraction, thinking of her, it felt hot like a heart beating under his adam’s apple.

“Don’t die. I need all of you alive,” Lucifer had told his remaining Generals.

A powerful swing of Egrigori’s broadsword made Raphael inch back. Ten meters, twenty meters, ten kilometers to go. He couldn’t turn his back on her and run like he’d run from emptiness with consumption, promiscuity, and debauchery. Absolute indulgence was the only relief for a Demon of Sloth. His muscles strained, the Fallen Angel’s curse tearing him apart at every breath, every shrieking strike of their blades.

The Elysian fields were covered in Morning Glories. They were flowers of regret, dual-edged, a blade amongst flowers who could represent love or death—a strange thing to grow on the plains highest in the sky. The Almighty couldn’t feel any regrets, but they carpeted the fields where He had slept.

Egrigori had walked that field when his wings were white. He wished things had gone otherwise, but contrary to many of his comrades, Egrigori wasn’t a victim. The number of Angels who could have gifted him with those deathly flowers were numerous. Some had killed themselves. Losing Samael, his first honest commitment, wasn’t anything else than divine retribution.

Fighting against Raphael was like flying against the winds of a hurricane. All of Egrigori’s movements were slowed down, advancing one flower at a time. How many thousand flowers more must he trample to reach Etemenanki? They’d fought for a thousand years to get this high in the sky but never had his Hell felt so deep. He was exhausted. Absolute indulgence would have been to join Samael, but she wanted to see the tower fall.

He’d indulge her rather than himself for once and decorate her tomb, her statue, whatever Lucifer decides to erect in her honor, with the stones of that tower and red roses.

Egrigori despised blue.

***

“Get out of my way!” Azazel roared at Gabriel.

Women tended to irk Azazel, patronizing women even more. Then, there were the immature ones, the indecisive ones, the bitches in Lucifer’s harem, the ones who burned on the stake. Women. This one was strong, probably not a bitch, probably mature, but he still hated her snob watery guts. He hated Angels not because he was a Demon or because he was a man. Arbiter; Those kinds of haughty Angels reminded him of Arbiter Mortis.

Females filled him with dread. There was something about their bodies, about the way they moved, their voices, their hair, he couldn’t place it. Being a brute had its advantages, but that was a façade to hide his discomfort. A playful caress of a horny concubine was enough to give him hives. The only thing he feared more than their disdain was their affection. Not because they were married to Lucifer, they were free to have mates, but because it was a game for those people.

Azazel had felt like a toy abused by an insane little girl in Arbiter’s hands. She undressed him, plopped his head off now and then, an arm, replaced it by something else, abandoned him like trash only to come back later. In moments of insanity, he’d played along into her sadistic games, even feeling delighted and relieved when she’d return. Why he’d wondered when he was still sane enough to think, why was she hurting him so much?

There was no reasoning with that woman. She did it because she could and because she was convinced it was her duty. He’d prayed until he passed out, called for the Almighty’s mercy, tried a thousand ways to prove his innocence, but she kept doubting his faith. “You’ve protected those witches,” she said, “It was your duty to purge them in the name of our Father!” She’d convinced him he’d sinned because of women.

He’d failed once, one little time, felt sorry for a demented old hag who had smiled at him and looked him in the eyes while his heart was already full of doubt. Lucifer had also wavered once, but he’d still completed his mission.

As the Arch Seraph, Lucifer wasn’t supposed to have free will or any judgment on the Almighty’s mysterious ways. Azazel didn’t want to burden his only friend with his futile worries. Azazel had preferred to fall alone than pulled the Arch Seraph down with him, so his questions remained unanswered. He wanted to consult Arbiter, but before it was to torture him, she hadn’t given him the time of day.

Praying had begun to feel wrong. Azazel watched the women burn, questioning if the Almighty watched them burn with him and thought they deserved such a terrible death. His question was simple: Were they really the wives of Satan?

“What a beautiful Angel you are,” the old hag had said, and he’d dropped his torch and fallen to his knees. Lucifer was frolicking with his lover at that time, Azazel unaware of what was happening in Eden. He didn’t know love, or gender, or anything of the kind. He was a pure Angel.

“You’ve kneeled to the Devil!” Arbiter had shrieked at some point when he was in pieces, but the only Devil he saw was her.

Having lived in Hell, he now knew Satan’s only wife was Astarothe, and the only witch married to a Demon was Beelzebub’s woman. Still, he didn’t know if the Almighty agreed to executions and had to reach Etemenanki for an answer.

Not quite sure why he’d let his mouth run, perhaps because Gabriel was a woman, Azazel yelled, “I will have my audience with God!”

***

They were nearing their target, the outer gates visible. Uriel wasn’t much of a challenge to Satan, feeling insulted Lucifer hadn’t let him take the bigger fish. The cute little Seraph had come a long way to have the guts to devise a plan where Satan didn’t fight the strongest warrior. Never mind, Uriel had punched him so hard in the stomach, there might have been a hole. A hole through his guts was _nothing_.

Anyways, all glory for him once they reached Etemenanki. If the Speaker, that snotty little prick, showed his dumbass blond mug, Satan was going to happily beat him to a pulp. No wonder Lucilius had hated that idiot who only believed in the word of “their Lord and Savior” rather than listened to his enlightened science. All creation was a miracle to Sahar, who could rise and set the sun with a snap of his fingers. Privilege didn’t exist in his extremely privileged eyes. He wasn’t the black sheep in the herd, hated by his Father from the moment he was born.

Satan was the unloved son. God made no mistakes, people said, but God had told into Satan’s face he was a mistake. Well, fuck you, father. I’m now married to that flamboyant non-binary deity you hate and rule on a Hell I built and created, he wanted to reply, but the Almighty wasn’t there anymore. Satan was going to gladly take back his Father’s world and rebuild it in his own image like he’d made Hell.

That Dragon, that vile Serpent who ruled on the sky, was going to fall by the hand of Eve’s creation. Satan would let the fire burn until it consumed the Almighty. He’d take the Almighty’s ashes and create a world anew. Eve, no, Lucilius, was his friend, a man he trusted, and Satan was part of his Grand Finale. Lucilius had promised to put the world into his hands.

Lucifer could reach his destination, free the Blue Flame. Satan had played along with the Seraph long enough. Once that was over, he’d reclaim the bit of power he’d lost because of the Nephilim. They were all going to die, those meaningless slaves at the frontline. Satan was the only one of the Fallen Angels who knew they would reach their destination for sure, and what Eve had meant to do with the Blue Flame.

Sandalphon was going to become the next Almighty, but Satan wasn’t going to let that happen. God wanted an equal, and Satan was going to take that away from Him. Thousands of years in the making, Lucilius’ sealed power blooming inside of the Blue Flame’s vessel to reach the celestial power of their Creator.

Confident in his success to reach Etemenanki, Satan ignored the small ache in his stomach and kept hitting back.

The gates were near.

***

Lucifer didn’t want to speak with Michael, but something felt so amiss. He needed to confirm his suspicions. A thousand years of battle through Heaven hadn’t felt like enough, the troops and the gates breaking too quickly. Perhaps he was losing his mind or addicted to war, but the tower was so close he could see the windows, and his army hadn’t slowed down on the Elysian Fields.

Michael had barely put a few gashes on Lucifer’s arm and burnt one of his feet. They had sparred quite often, so long ago he could barely remember, but Michael’s strength felt equal to those olden days. Lucifer had also improved since, and he was probably the most powerful of all the Fallen Angels, but their growth must have been equal for such a result.

A Demon of Pride could hardly judge his limits. There were none. He was the best, the greatest, and it was only _normal_ he was winning. The flames just tingled a bit.

“Are you going easy on me?” Lucifer gave Michael a bit of a nudge, enough to send him twirling in the air.

Asking that much was a terrible blow to Lucifer’s ego, but something else bothered him. Michael wasn’t the type to kill an isolated opponent like Samael without a righteous or essential reason. The Nephilim was one of the most wanted Demons in Heaven, a war criminal, but he’d still have instead jailed her like he had already six times in Pandemonium. She’d discovered something confidential, and Michael had no other choice but to eliminate her.

Michael struck with a sudden powerful blow. That irritated Lucifer; was Michael underestimating him or evaluating his strength to strategize? He couldn’t let his pride get the better of him like the Archangel perhaps hoped. A small distraction was enough for a killing blow, even if Michael would have preferably avoided such an outcome.

He couldn’t allow himself to use all of his power either. More traps might have been waiting on the way. Lucifer landed, sheathed his sword, and turned his back on Michael.

“W-what are you doing?!” Their duel wasn’t over, and Lucifer hadn’t even broken much of a sweat.

Michael couldn’t attack someone in the back, his righteousness wouldn’t allow him, and Lucifer hadn’t admitted defeat. He hadn’t lost. In fact, he’d already won.

“Are you demanding a truce?” Michael tried.

As if! Lucifer scoffed and shrugged. “You’re wasting my time,” he said, striding in the direction of Etemenanki, not even taking the effort of flying.

“Excuse me?”

The Archangel was at a total loss but still didn’t attack. Something was definitely amiss.

“Azazel, Egrigori, come here!” he shouted.

Both looked at him as if he’d fallen onto his head. They were still standing and alive, but much more beaten up than Lucifer. It wouldn’t have mattered to the Almighty if Lucifer’s generals had died because they weren’t the key to unsealing Sandalphon. Satan was having too much fun with Uriel, and stopping him would have insulted the King of Cocytus. Raphael and Gabriel didn’t shoot in their back either as they joined Lucifer.

The three like this would have been easy to contain and jail. With the Demon’s leaders lost, their entire army would have fallen in little time. Yet, the Archangels didn’t try to create a sealing barrier. All eyes were on Michael, who seemed uncomfortable. Lucifer thought he understood what was happening.

“You are not fighting me because you believe the prophecy is ineluctable, and therefore your death at my hands would have been meaningless?” Lucifer asked.

“What arrogance!” Michael pointed his sword at Lucifer, “You are the one who began this battle, so you shall end it! We have not sacrificed thousands of our warriors to entertain you! We tried to protect His dear Earth from your ravages, and our war led us here. Etemenanki is only a symbol, and destroying our symbols won’t end our faith or avoid His return. Your battle is futile, Lucifer, and I detest futile deaths!”

Egrigori was livid. Had Michael called his mate’s death futile? Lucifer put a hand on his shoulder, feeling as if Egrigori was about to start the Apocalypse by himself, dark power gathering around his broadsword. Lucifer didn’t spare Michael a glance.

“Come. I don’t know what the Gods are scheming, or my role in the Grand Plan, but it seems we have an appointment, and Samael knew the terms. I guess Lord Satan has an idea about them as well.”

“Aren’t you going to ask them about those terms before we go into that place? What if Michael agreed to let Sahar fight you, given your feud is rather personal?” Azazel’s expression was unreadable, probably too confused to feel anything. The battlefield, save for Uriel and Satan still fighting to their heart’s content, had fallen into a deathly silence.

“To the void with their terms. I’m on mine alone. If Sahar wants to fight, I’ve been waiting for this since Pandemonium,” Lucifer said, heading for Etemenanki’s gate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. Thank you for your patience. It wasn't supposed to take this long, but something has happened. Here's the story;
> 
> To celebrate the end of ANGEL, I commissionned an artist to do art for the final chapter. They weren't a professional, I was aware of the risks and had a hunch it wouldn't go great, but I hoped to encourage them (in the end it probably had the opposite effect and I'm sorry about that). 
> 
> I spent a total of 8 hours for a commission I was paying for, DRAWING. It was absurd, but they considered the commissionner should draw the entire concept and base sketch and draw the corrections they wanted themselves. Uhm, nope, but I still did!
> 
> What I'd not expected was that their ego would blast into my face when I belatedly noticed a big mistake in perspective and asked them to correct a pair of legs. I corrected the legs myself on their demand, but they still wouldn't make the changement. I am not a pro, I don't draw so well and that's why I paid someone else to do it in the first place!
> 
> After they refused to correct it, I offered them to give up because I wouldn't put that illustration on my beloved fic. It had good points, it wasn't bad at all. I just didn't like that they wouldn't repair such a small thing. I was a bit harsh tbh. They sent me a novel of their own in reply I haven't read. 
> 
> I understand I have hurt them, but they sent me the exact same thing a week after I asked for a major correction, trying if I'd dare to protest once they'd already filled the blacks. Nope, don't try me. They also refused to tell me which program they used, which was weird except if something was embarassing them. If they'd done it all on MS Paint, I would have understood why it was so hard to correct and let it be.
> 
> That little adventure has cost me 8 hours of work, a lot of energy, money, more sadness in this sad month, and a strike to my motivation. After that, I was unable to write more of this fic. 
> 
> I won't let this bad adventure destroy all of the love I have and put into ANGEL. Whatever they've been through on their side, I hope it hasn't disgusted them from drawing either, even though I'm still angry. Yes, you'll have an end, I've been promising it for months. Only, it will take more time and I might be the one who will have drawn the final art. I've learned a lot about anatomy fighting with that person lol I hope this will continue to entertain you.


	30. Chapter 30

Lucifer’s snub hadn’t worked as an escape maneuver, but Michael wasn’t enough to stop him either. His team had distracted the Archangels just long enough for Belial and Mammon to slip into the tower’s external area with a few witches. The explosion attracted all eyes to the gaping, twisted gate.

The vigils had failed to notice the small group sneaking out of the battlefield, covered by Magisa’s magic. Another large group of witches had quit halfway to Etemenanki, following their Elder. The witch out of a children’s storybook had dragged her old, shivering body all the way up the Heavens to suddenly change her mind and part ways with the Demon army near Eden. Lucifer wouldn’t put a foot into that accursed garden, so he let them leave.

The Angels panicked, seeing Belial triumphantly hold a piece of the golden barrier and waving it to Lucifer. No matter if it wasn’t him who got to Etemenanki first or not, they didn’t want Nephilim anywhere near their holiest place and symbol of purity. Lucifer cackled at their late reaction. Only then did Satan stop fighting.

“You hadn’t warned me of that part of the plan!”

The King punched Uriel one last time, ran to the tower, and trampled everyone in his way. The King had to be the first, so the King thought. He wouldn’t let anyone else get the Blue Flame.

“My Lord! Be careful!” Beelzebub squawked, sensing something.

Lighting struck Satan. His massive form collapsed like a building, head to the ground. “My Loord!” Beelzebub may have screamed as if horrified, but he didn’t move and was rubbing his hands like a dung fly washing itself. That wasn’t part of Lucifer’s plan.

The Archangels recoiled, even Michael stopped harassing Lucifer with fireballs. They looked small all of a sudden, their fighting spirit drained. The Demons were also squinting, searching for the source of the surprise attack.

Lucifer took a few careful steps until he was next to Satan. Beelzebub was already leaning down and sighed, his hopes dropping. The King had survived but was unconscious. Lucifer made a sign the King was alright. Electricity crackled in the air, a powerful aura beaming from above. There wasn’t a second attack aiming at defeating the Demon King.

The witches walked out of the courtyard, unscathed, Mammon with them. She gave Lucifer a sideways, apologetic glance. “Where are you heading?” he asked.

Mammon lowered her head and hastened her pace. “I’m not dealing with Zeus!” she said, her throat tight, now avoiding his gaze.

“You’re telling me Zeus sent that bolt?”

She shook her head, hurrying after her sisters. “Follow them, Azazel. Try to find out where they are heading,” Lucifer ordered.

Azazel landed next to Mammon and kept at her tail no matter how many witches she tried to hide behind. He was loud, very loud in the middle of the group of women. Magisa seemed to tolerate his presence, even though she kept him at a reasonable distance, waving her staff like she would shoo an angry crow.

The foreboding sensation that had troubled Lucifer during the entire campaign was stronger than ever. Loki had reported Odin hadn’t shown up after the beginning of the Elysian Field’s battle. Sariel, the current Arch Seraph, hadn’t opposed him either, Alexiel commanding in her stead. None of them, except Zeus, were standing in his way. Zeus might have been able to stop him, but that type of risky strategy wasn’t Michael’s style.

Most of their battles had been against humans who were standing in their way. The Orleans Knights had valiantly resisted for over a hundred years, but the Hero they’d prayed for never came. Perhaps the Knight had given up after Shalem fell asleep and was challenging God in another dimension. It was still possible he’d show up to defend humanity, but against what? Sandalphon? The Cupid had no interest in mortals.

Keeping an eye on the window where Zeus was standing, Lucifer strode towards the tower. He could match both Zeus and Sahar, and if they were the only ones in his way, he’d defeat them swiftly. The Archangels didn’t follow or try to stop him and Egrigori anymore. The other Fallen Seraph kept at his heel, his thoughts elsewhere.

“Lucifer, I’m not sure about this,” Egrigori said.

Lucifer neither, but he was so close to his goal, he couldn’t take a step back or time to think. Samael had died wanting to warn them about something, and it was probably inside of the tower. He could expect Arbiter wasn’t dead, even having seen her die with his own eyes or Shalem. She wasn’t dead, only asleep, and Sahar might as well have awakened her for the single purpose of defeating Lucifer. 

Zeus was a complicated God, neither leaning towards good nor evil. He wasn’t the Almighty’s closest ally either, considering himself the Ruler of all Gods. An invitation from him couldn’t be declined. Lucifer was tempted to ignore it, just to show he dared to snub that God, but that could have also been a trap. Sandalphon was in there, waiting.

Lucifer went through the gate and began ascending the stairs.

***

The Heavens had stirred, Etemenanki’s gate breached. Difficultly, numbly, Sahar heaved himself up from the sealed stone. He squinted at the stars above as if their light were glaring. Gods were descending, their dresses leaving trails like a star shower in the sky. The wind had risen in Eden, but the chill he felt had nothing to do with the temperature.

Sahar’s white himation had absorbed the dew of the grass at his feet, softer under his knees than Etemenanki’s cold golden floor. He’d slept, desperately trying to reach Sandalphon. The battle was raging higher in the skies, much higher above. Lucifer, as expected, had avoided Eden. He was too proud for introspection or to understand he feared that place.

“Can you hear their cries, Sandalphon?” Sahar had asked as the savage hordes skirted Eden, their minds and motivation set on Etemenanki, blinded by its grandeur and close victory. “Yes, that’s Lucifer. Ah, but we need more time, my dear, just a little more time. Soon, I promise, soon we’ll be free.”

The ways of the Almighty were mysterious, even to Sahar. Why make him the villain in this Grand Plan? He despised suffering, injustice, war, bloodshed, death and hated to act as if he didn’t care. Everything was part of the cycle, and he could keep enduring as long as Sandalphon still smiled at him, but that had ended long ago.

“I’m wavering, Father,” he’d said more than once over the stone. “Is this the price to pay to fulfill your wish, or am I deluding myself? Has the Flame robbed me of my divine resolve?”

The Blue Flame had many powers, some of them unknown to Sahar. It was like a black hole, absorbing all the energies surrounding it. It was insensitive to the elements and magic. Had the complete arrow struck Lucifer, he could have become a mere mortal, enslaved by his passion for Sandalphon, or died. It all depended on what Sandalphon felt.

Emotions like hatred, fear, and rage made the Flame dangerous. Eve had known only numbness, disappointment, and hate. If Sandalphon had known only happiness and love, the Blue Flame would have remained a harmless light display like in his early years. Sahar understood nothing about emotions but had done everything the Almighty had told him to do for his wish to come true. He still didn’t understand why Sandalphon had to hate him and their Father.

The Creation Gods had awakened. Lucifer must have thought they were fleeing like cowards, jumping out of Etemenanki as he approached. Only Zeus remained to greet Lucifer, insisting he wanted a few words with the _Doomlord_. Zeus wasn’t interested in the Almighty’s return, reluctant to hand the throne back to its proper owner. Creation Gods could be prideful, and he was the proudest after Lucifer.

A Goddess in a sparkling golden dress had leaned over the stone casket and hugged it like she would a child. Aphrodite had been the first of the Creation Gods to awaken. She whispered something to Sandalphon as if he were her child in a cradle. She gave him her love and affection, the only way she could for the moment. Soon followed Hermes, Eros, Ares, Dionysos.

Athena arrived to report, her armor still covered in the grime of battle. “Lucifer has entered the tower’s gates,” she said. “We’ve saved as much time as we could.”

She looked at the other gods and nodded to herself, satisfied even as none of them reacted, still groggy from their long slumber. Lucifer hadn’t awakened or chased them out of the tower. Something was growing in the Heavens, a power that probably even mediums could feel. The battle had stopped above, most Angels abandoning their posts. To the Demons, it must have looked like an abdication or surrender.

Sahar wondered if he was supposed to feel happy at that moment. Eventually, grace and divine love would reach them, and they couldn’t help but dance and rejoice. More Gods were filling the garden, all the chosen few who would view the Almighty’s return and the end of the cycle.

“I sense witches are near with a Demon and a Precursor,” Ares grunted, hoping for one last battle even though he had no feud with those olden Gods.

“What, a Precursor? So long after Arbiter’s religious purge?” Bacchus had come with wine and was already drunk, the Demigod Hamsa under his other arm.

Creation Gods hadn’t purged the Precursors, but most had died with the faith of their followers, burned at stake. Pagans, the Holy Church called them, Witches. No celestial being could maintain its power without followers. The remaining Precursors had taken the form of humans and lost most of their abilities.

“Leave them be. Their fake prophecies don’t concern us,” Sariel said.

Archangels only believed in one path and in one God, just like the Holy Church. If Lucifer hadn’t fallen or ever known Sandalphon, he would have been standing at her place. There was a dimension where it was happening that way, and perhaps Sandalphon still loved Sahar.

Fake prophecies, Sahar wasn’t so sure, but he’d tried everything to stop Sandalphon from becoming those witch’s Lilith. He might have failed.

***

The tower was empty. Zeus looked smug, grinning at them as if he’d pulled a funny prank. The place where the stone had probably been before, at the window giving on the stars was gone. All the stars were falling.

Egrigori hadn’t waited to draw his sword, but Lucifer held him back as he seethed. “Is this why Samael died? Because she was going to tell us Sandalphon wasn’t here? For something so stupid?!”

“I don’t think so,” Lucifer tried to say calmly, keeping his eyes on Zeus.

Lucifer braced himself for combat, but Zeus didn’t stand up from his throne or even lift a finger. Instead, he asked, “Down, boy, I won’t stop you, but I have a question; What would you do with the Blue Flame?”

Lucifer didn’t have time for small-talk, but something seemed to be bothering Zeus. He wasn’t an enemy or an ally, only a neutral observer of the Creator’s world. His few escapades in the mortal realm had resulted mostly in tragedy. He’d done several things Angels and Humans alike judged as wrong, but he still sat on that holy throne. Even so, Lucifer didn’t owe Zeus a reply.

“Eve’s curse will follow him wherever he goes and whatever he becomes. You might be able to stop him now, but he won’t always be yours.”

“Oh, please give me a break!” Egrigori barked, disgustedly.

Zeus was bothered because he knew the future if there was one to this world. Lucifer was confident enough Sandalphon wouldn’t ever turn his back on him without a serious reason. Zeus could think what he wanted of the Cupid, that he might awaken insane or unstable, but Lucifer wouldn’t have let him down.

“At least he won’t be the slave of Providence!” Lucifer snapped.

“He will be a slave, Lucifer, be it to you, to Man, or to the Gods. Would you accept he could resent you and choose another savior?”

Sandalphon would never resent him. That was just impossible. Preposterous! Lucifer was offering him complete freedom and his company. Some could only dream of so much from the Ruler of the Edgelands! Zeus was trying to buy time. That meant Lucifer must have had a hunch on where Sahar had taken the stone.

“I heard you made a troublesome promise, and I must warn you…”

“A troublesome promise?” Egrigori frowned.

Lucifer didn’t even have to ask Zeus for the location of the stone. Sahar was emotionally inept enough to awaken Sandalphon in the confines of Eden. That would upset Sandalphon to a point Lucifer feared even he couldn’t calm the Cupid down. Perhaps that was their objective to ensure the Apocalypse.

“The devil never breaks promises, and I promised to save Sandalphon,” Lucifer snapped.

Zeus didn’t try to stop him, but Lucifer could still feel his gaze tingling in his back. He’d sounded grave enough to be serious, but Lucifer couldn’t remember any other significant promise he might have made.

It had faded in the back of his mind like a dream.

***

The witches had lit a bonfire. The Elder stood with them at the gates of Eden. Azazel observed without understanding what they were doing, why they suddenly began dancing like on a Sabbath. They were in the ashes of a previous battlefield, lifting dust with their dresses, shaking up the energies of fallen warriors. The Elder was the only one immobile, facing the fire, chanting an incantation.

It was in the ancient language of Baal, a Precursor. Azazel hadn’t heard that language in tens of thousands of years and could only understand partially. All those female bodies twisting like snakes made him uncomfortable, but there was something hypnotic about them twirling, chanting to Sandalphon.

That woman was the Goddess Baal. She’d been hiding for so long. She’d revealed her true identity to call upon the one she saw as her savior, as the God who could return the Precursors to their past grandeur. The witches were praying for a new world of Original Love. They called for another Tree of Knowledge to grow and for the witches to bear its fruit.

Azazel couldn’t understand why they would want such a thing from Sandalphon. Were they asking for him to impregnate them? The Cupid was male, or so Azazel thought. Wait, was he a she? What was he even thinking?! Azazel knew about Precursors but nearly nothing about the witch’s religion, culture, and beliefs. Witches considered men impure, that much he knew.

Magisa called upon Lilith. A part of the flames became blue, and a silhouette emerged on top. It was dancing with another. A few witches began crying hysterically while watching the flaming couple waltzing over the bonfire.

A deafening roar shook the Heavens, and all the witches fell to their knees, screaming as if in horror. Azazel looked up, and there, he saw—

***

For once, Sandalphon had a nice dream. Shalem was there, dancing with him, not on grapes to press wine, but on the stars. Something had shifted in his dreamscape, and for the first time, it was a dream where he forgot his worries and the real world.

Shalem was back. At last, someone he loved and cared for came back for him, and he saw the love in her gaze. They were dancing on the morningstar, Venus, like a stone shining beneath their feet. He didn’t know why they were celebrating, but holding Shalem’s hands and seeing her smile was like watching the dusk of a past life for a new dawn.

He’d missed her like he’d missed the sunrise. She’d missed him the same, and he knew what she felt and what she thought. They were two dreamers having a happy dream. They laughed, chanted, skipped, twirled, and pranced, celebrating their reunion.

The sky was black as ink but comforting. Venus, Mars, Jupiter, all the Creation Gods were there with them, greeting the descending sun with open arms. Oh, what a joyful day! Their Creator was returning, blessing them with His golden claw!

The Creation Gods had awakened, they had all returned to greet Him, and they had assembled around the stone. Sandalphon wouldn’t ever be alone again. The Creator had come back to Heaven, and everything would return into order. No more suffering, no more misery, no more golden cages. Sandalphon reached out for the divine light, tears of joy in his eyes.

The Gods chanted;

_Play the lyre and dance for rebirth_

_Hear the Angel singing highest in the Heavens_

_May the Blue Flame in the distance beckon Him,_

_Like the fire of a lighthouse a lost ship_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Azazel understood NOTHING about what the witches were doing or asking for lol Don't take his part seriously.
> 
> You'll understand later.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive the absolute SIN in this chapter, but Major Character Death warning applies here.

The sky fell onto their heads. Thousands of years of war, of inching up to the highest place in the Heavens, reaching it only to understand Sandalphon was in Eden. While getting to Etemenanki had felt like trying to swim through a sea of rubble, now Lucifer faced wall upon wall of resistance with only hours or minutes until the Rift.

A rain of light befell the Infernal Army. Thousands fell in the blink of an eye or combusted at the sight of the Almighty above. His presence was too much to survive for the darkest of Demons, only Fallen Angels and Nephilim immune to the holy power. His return came with divine retribution, blessing the Holy, smiting the Sinners. Lucifer roared, “We will not yield!” but his voice couldn’t carry his faltering army. They were trapped.

Jupiter and Mars collided with the already diminished army. The Gods had kept much of their strength for the last minutes before the end of the cycle to ensure nobody would interfere with Sandalphon’s awakening. Lucifer’s pride wouldn’t falter either. He hadn’t lost yet, and he wouldn’t relinquish. Instead, see the world disappear with him than lose or fail to keep his promise.

The Almighty had manifested in the shape of a Golden Dragon the size of two mountains. He could take any form, this one, while glorious, modest compared to former appearances. Lucifer’s hair bristled, and he felt sick to the stomach. Sahar, this was all Sahar’s trickery! Rarely had he felt such rage, containing it to not show a sign of his imminent defeat.

Satan was nowhere to be seen, neither the part of his army that had escaped. The Devil must have known or guessed Sahar’s plan, playing dead while the two Fallen Angels ascended the stairs. His followers had retreated or were heading to Eden. Lucifer had to think out a strategy, a way to reach Sandalphon faster than them.

Azazel appeared, flying through the rays of light like a bird chasing its prey, twirling, dropping, crowing, and screaming curses at the Angels. He landed, injured on a wing, blood barely visible on the black feathers. He’d been through more than one fight on his way back and escaped by a breadth of his life.

“Sandalphon, the Witches…” he was out of breath, and neither of them could stay in one place for too long. “Baal. Their Elder is Baal!”

Egrigori held him by the shoulders as he lurched forward. He quickly explained the little he saw and understood. The Witches hadn’t ever been their allies, but neither enemies. They truly worshipped Sandalphon, or whatever they wanted him to become in Baal’s interest. The point was that Magisa had intentionally misled Lucifer.

“Egrigori,” he breathed, close to his General’s ear, “Do you think you could pass for me on the battlefield for a while?”

Egrigori frowned. Lucifer could see the emptiness in his eyes, the loss of faith and hope. He’d abdicated as a General. The Demon of Sloth was tired and fed up, and without his mate to shake him by the shoulders, he wouldn’t lift a finger anymore. Lucifer was responsible for the current debacle. He’d failed his army, his allies, and Samael. Egrigori needed someone to blame, and Lucifer was the easiest target.

“I swear, I will find out why Samael died, but I need you this last time. Trust me, I have an idea. I am sorry I made this terrible mistake!”

Admitting he’d been wrong was only an act of desperation, and Egrigori knew he couldn’t expect better. As Demons, as former Seraphs, they could sympathize and understand each other.

“I can do that,” Azazel said, “I can pass for you.”

No, he couldn’t. He hadn’t ever been a Seraph, lacking one pair of wings, their shine, and he had buckhorns that gave him out by reputation. Lucifer couldn’t hold back a sneer, and Azazel flushed. Egrigori sighed. A spark only returned when he hoped to have nothing to do. It had faded again.

“I’ll give you whatever you wish if we survive.” Lucifer also felt hot to the face. There was no more terrible embarrassment to him than begging.

“Alright, I will give my price later, after I’ve talked with my daughter,” Egrigori grumbled.

Even if Lucifer had tried and wanted to, he couldn’t stop Egrigori from wasting away with grief. The Depraved could only become worse. Still, he had a thought for his daughter, and that gave Lucifer hope. He could have fallen lower. Even with his heavy curse, he kept courageous at the core.

“Azazel, tell me where the witches are.”

***

Lucifer had fled the battlefield like a loser, crawling near the ground like an insect, hiding rather than proving he could fight everyone. He had to make himself small and discreet, wriggling like a worm out of its hole. Egrigori kept shining and loud, donning Lucifer’s attire, all energy put on maintaining the Archangels far enough to not notice and taunting them as a distraction.

Lucifer wore Azazel’s shaggy cloak to cover himself and curved his spine, humble as he faced the Witches. Magisa had a pinched smile, and Baal laughed at his arrival. The other Witches were too busy dancing to even watch. Mammon was the only one to stop in a twirl and gape as Lucifer begged Baal and Magisa for their help.

He was distracted, seeing the form of his lover dancing in their fire. “He’s dreaming,” Magisa said, “He’s still asleep. We are trying to reach him with our prayers.”

“Could I as well?”

Magisa pursed her lips, her eyes twinkling with mirth. “You’ll have to join our Sabbath, my Lord.”

She remembered how the tormentor had dragged her into her cell, pulling her long silver hair. She’d remembered the way Lucifer had treated her with disdain and how they’d destroyed the Witch’s castle while they could have been allies. Always condescension for her lot. Protecting his reputation was no excuse, and he’d never apologized.

“I apologize for the way I have treated—”

“Hush now,” Magisa said, her lips narrow and her eyes harder. She knew Lucifer was an opportunist. He lowered his head.

Most witches were dancing naked, some of them even burning their clothes in the fire. It was a typical witch’s Sabbath, the kind that scared those who had forgotten the ancient ways. Those women exuded a primal, bestial power, the Horned One leading the rhythm of the drums. There was no shame, no sense of self, no pride, only bodies with a powerful soul. Lucifer had to join that primitive display.

“You’ll have to dance,” she said between thin lips.

“I, I can’t dance.” He’d come so close to Eden, for a moment, he thought he could break through, ignore the insulting, vexing invitation, and rather die fighting the Gods heads-on.

“If you can’t drop your pride, you don’t deserve Lilith,” Baal sniffed, her long nose high. “If your pride is more worth keeping than saving him, then be on your way.”

The dancing flames on the bonfire were becoming weaker. Sandalphon was about to awaken. Baal eyed the Dragon with a hint of worry. Even the all-seeing Baal seemed to have doubts about the outcome.

“Fine,” Lucifer said, feeling another blush crawl up his face.

For Sandalphon and Sandalphon alone, he could dance. He slipped out of his clothes and danced with the witches, struggling to reach their state of trance. Asking Lucifer to let go of himself was asking for a miracle. He danced and danced until his head was spinning until his mouth was dry. Magisa cackled like the Witch she was, but he knew, deep inside, he’d deserved no better from her.

The two figures in the fire had stopped dancing as if to watch him if they weren’t looking at the Almighty. He could now see them; Sandalphon and Shalem. He still kept dancing, even embarrassed to death. Lucifer knew from that moment they couldn’t talk. All he could do was to send his prayers and hope Sandalphon to take the right decision.

Lucifer prayed for anger not to blind Sandalphon like pride had led him.

***

The dreamscape was collapsing. Sandalphon had felt a tug and a hint of loneliness while they danced. Shalem was still there, smiling, dancing, but her star was further away, moving. All the other stars around them were falling, joining the light below.

Sandalphon was a bit afraid. He didn’t know when he’d ever see his old friend again, and even as she looked happy, dancing as if nothing were wrong, the world was pulling him down. Reality and consciousness were seeping back into his mind. She was lost in a deep, faraway dream, delighted her master had returned.

“Don’t leave me alone!” Sandalphon shouted, feeling cold on his skin.

“Goodbye, my friend!” she called, “Goodbye, and be strong! Shine a new light on the world, and we will meet again where ships conquered the skies!”

What she said made no sense. Ships could already fly. Had she forgotten? Sandalphon resisted the pull, trying to follow her, but his wings were burning blue. He didn’t want to remember, not alone, not awaken without Lucifer’s tight, comforting embrace. Where was Lucifer?

He heard drums in the distance, and they beat inside of his core. It sounded like a slow procession, but flames flickered energetically in the darkness like Will-O-Wisps. He could see them twist and turn, flinch and twitch. Giggles were echoing like inside a tunnel. The flames danced in a circle around him.

Sandalphon felt a familiar presence. Lucifer trusted in Sandalphon, knew he’d make the right choice. “Be strong,” reached his heart, and he knew he wasn’t alone. A hundred souls were holding his hand, and it glowed blue with his cursed flame.

“Don’t let anger blind you.”

It was hard to let go of anger, of his desire for vengeance. He hadn’t been able to enjoy the world and life, so nobody else should have had that right. Sahar, for all the evil he’d done, deserved the arrow. The anger was burning blue inside of his core, demanding to be unleashed.

“You are not alone. You have friends,” said a hundred.

Still, Sandalphon couldn’t and wouldn’t forgive Sahar or the Almighty. If there was a future for him, then he wished for this;

He wanted to see large rivers flow under the bridges of cities, hear Earth’s singing birds and the sunset over foreign lands, walk through the bustle of a market, and taste the spices in new dishes. He wanted to dance, sing and laugh with other people, with the Will-O-Wisps who promised him a family, with Lucifer, with his own family. Creation was something beautiful, but it had wasted the Creator, just like it had wasted Eve.

He reached out for the flame he sensed to be Lucifer and took his final decision.

***

The Gods watched as the stone casket levitated, touched by the Almighty’s claw. There, Sandalphon floated unconscious. His blue flame hadn’t manifested yet, and the vessel was still tight asleep. Sahar kneeled, his head low, mourning on his face.

A pair of red eyes opened and blinked, setting directly onto the Speaker. Sandalphon unfurled his brown wings. An eerie calm settled in Eden. All of the Gods kneeled, even Zeus, who had appeared with a bolt shortly before the casket had opened. Sahar couldn’t take his eyes away from the Cupid, who was looking straight back at him without saying a word. The world was on fire in those red eyes.

“Our Father has weakened,” Zeus whispered, just loud enough for Sahar to hear.

Sahar had long not understood the reasons for the Almighty’s sudden disappearance, but as he began sensing the creation of new dimensions, he’d understood. The Almighty’s voice couldn’t reach him anymore, because indeed, He’d weakened.

The Almighty created several futures, spinning the threads of all the dimensions of possibilities. The Shadowverse, the Sky Realm, Mistarcia, Alberia, he’d made all the parallel dimensions which would tell His creation myth, be it with variations. There wouldn’t be only one Lucifer, Sahar, or Sandalphon after the Rift. In some, either of them didn’t even exist.

Sahar had also dreamt for a long time, searched for the Heroes and Singularities of those worlds. The Almighty needed one last catalyst to spark the Beginning. It was there, an ant compared to the Creator, soon to shine blue. Eve had wanted their legacy to serve Destruction, but the Almighty found a path for Rebirth.

“-Lucifer?” were Sandalphon’s first words, more like a jab at Sahar.

After glancing at the Gods and tearing his eyes from Sahar, Sandalphon looked up at the Almighty as if He were part of the landscape. Sandalphon was utterly unimpressed by the Creator because all he saw was a shining Dragon, something out of a dream or a nightmare. He’d spent about three thousand years dreaming.

“Lucifer isn’t here,” Sahar said, and Sandalphon closed his eyes and put his hands to his chest.

He’d awakened without joy, anger, sorrow, or fear. Not displaying any powerful emotion might have meant he was still half-asleep, but the pain in his face was apparent. Sahar couldn’t understand that reaction, nor why he kept holding to his chest until he opened his hands.

There was the Blue Flame between them, the orb shining icily. His red eyes were melancholy, and his head tipped to the side. Something blue dripped from one of his eyes, glowing like the flame.

“Thousands of years,” he said in a small, sad voice, “Thousands of years of sleep and imprisonment in a dream. And here you all stand, expecting me to change the real world. Not a greeting, not a hug, Sahar… Do you expect me to despise you, after all you have done and refuse you even a greeting? To despise our Father? Or maybe…” Both his eyes were leaking the glowing blue tears, “You’ve always hated me?”

Sahar struggled to not respond by the depth of his love. Sandalphon had been his everything.

All of the Gods stared silently as the Blue Flame began covering the Cupid’s body. The more fearful Gods had started shaking, mouths agape as Eve’s legacy appeared in all of its frightening glory. His body had become invisible under the metallic blue, liquid rather than combustible, whirling around his limbs. Sahar didn’t know what to reply. He couldn’t understand such emotions, if only a bit, but his feet were riveted to the ground.

“Father,” Sandalphon said, his voice low and shaking, “You must be so lonely, high up in the sky without a single equal or friend. You cannot share your creations with anyone ever since Lucilius turned his back on you. It must have been like living in a dreamscape forever, longer than me.”

Sandalphon’s eyes widened a glint of insanity inside of them, staring at the Golden Dragon. He was furious, containing himself. Everyone usually fell to their knees seeing the Almighty, but there was no sense of inferiority or superiority in his tone or gaze. He’d never grown in a world that taught him the fear of God.

A bow taller than Sandalphon appeared in his hand, and a shining blue arrow. “Well, Father, it’s time to wake up.”

Gods screamed in horror as the arrow struck their Creator. Light beamed out of the Almighty’s chest, a rift cutting through in His belly. The flame tore the Almighty in half from inside. It sounded like a massive explosion and a deafening shriek, a Big Bang under their eyes.

And then, there was darkness.

Two Dragons, divided as equals, faced each-other. One shone like a star, while the other was black as ink. Sandalphon fell down from the sky, the Blue Fire extinguished. Without it, he was nothing more than a frail, unconscious vessel.

Sahar tried to catch him, but it was too late. Bahamut, the Black Dragon, unleashed its rage. It spat a beam of fire onto the Cupid. It blew Sandalphon out of existence like the flame of a candle. Sahar screamed as if torn in half.

The God of the Sky and the God of the Stars began fighting in the Heavens.

***

Lucifer had seen everything happen. He’d felt a hand on his cheek, warmth in his chest, and as the Blue Fire vanished under the Dragon’s breath, Sandalphon was gone. Heaven and Earth were still there, but it looked like the Apocalypse was unraveling under his eyes. The black Dragon escaped, dove down through the clouds. The Silver City was no more, but he didn’t care for shining towers.

Satan had appeared again, the first to fly after Bahamut, followed by Zeus and Odin towards the Human world. The Witches watched, the only ones not panicking. They stood in solemn silence, tears on Magisa’s cheeks. Both armies had stopped fighting, Angels chased after their masters and the Infernal Army after their King. Only the surviving Nephilim kept standing.

Lucifer had flown rounds over the area Sandalphon had disappeared. Sahar was also there, prostrated, his face against the ground. He’d lost all of his glow and wasn’t even worth fighting anymore. Lucifer swore he’d return to that place, look under every piece of rubble or dust if anything remained of Sandalphon. He had an unpleasant vision of wearing a core talisman around his neck like Egrigori, and shook it out of his head. He'd found worse pain than the Fallen Angel's curse.

The Witches had also moved to that place and had begun searching, unlike useless, pitiful Sahar. Some of them had been shocked by what they’d seen, legs still wobbly in a few Witches. Egrigori was holding Samael’s dead core in his hand, staring into emptiness grimly.

“Don’t you fear for your world, Precursor?” Lucifer asked Baal.

She shook her head. “This is a chance for unity,” she said, “the only chance for the three worlds to unite with one common goal.”

He didn’t understand what that old fool meant. Lucifer didn’t have time to cry or mourn, denial driving him as he returned to his troops. Sandalphon had taken pity on the Almighty, and this was the result. Why hadn’t he aimed for Sahar or the Heavens?

“Nephilim, assemble! We must stop that black Dragon before it destroys the three worlds!” He roared, and all the Nephilim joined him, even Egrigori, dragging his feet behind. Mammon followed them at a safe distance.

She’d known the Witch’s plan. Lucifer wasn’t in a mindset to think about forgiving her betrayal or not. All that mattered was stopping and destroying that accursed black Dragon and deprive one half of the other. He felt as if his other half had died and his heart rotten on the spot.

The two armies and their leaders followed Bahamut down to Earth, where it unleashed the worst of its rage. The other half, the Ultimate, didn’t try to stop its equal, returning into the skies. God was Rebirth and Destruction, and those two halves separated meant chaos. Rubble from war reduced to more rubble, barely recovering mortal communities set aflame. Once again, the Orleans Knights and the King of Mistarcia united against the new force of “evil.”

Demons tried to stop Bahamut on their own, but they failed. Angels and Gods fought it but could barely ward its blows. Humans were ridiculous little nothings, dying by thousands in one breath. That new God created by Sandalphon’s arrow destroyed everything indiscriminately. Soon, it would reach and destroy Cocytus if they couldn’t eliminate it.

Oracles had heard Sandalphon’s voice, the prediction of Bahamut’s creation. Sandalphon had taken the “Path of Providence.” He hadn’t become God, but he’d granted the Almighty’s wish. None had understood the true meaning of the prophecy’s name, lost to time, except for Baal.

A new God had arisen, a God of Destruction, but it wasn’t him. Sandalphon’s name ran in the human’s ranks like wildfire, an apocalyptic Angel born for the cataclysm. They pulled up white banners as the Demon’s army approached.

“We must unite powers, Lucifer. We can’t handle it on our own! Not even Lord Satan matches that thing!” Egrigori roared, “You can’t defeat this on your own!”

The Depraved was resisting his curse like a hero, so Lucifer took his example. He’d listen to reason and his advisors this time. This battle wasn’t about him anymore, but about the universe.

“Lord Satan!” Lucifer called, and the King of Demons looked at him, his yellow eyes wide.

“Why, Lucifer? Do you know why he didn’t aim for Earth and leave this _thing_ behind instead?! Isn’t this the Path of the Void?”

Satan had expected Sandalphon to destroy the Almighty’s creation, not the Almighty himself. Now the King had nobody left to hate and antagonize. He felt the rage of someone who had lost a neglectful parent, the joy of knowing them dead, and the anger of not being able to change the past or to change them, ever. He was stuck in the past, with nowhere to look forward.

Eve had not returned, so it wasn’t the Path of Void. They would return, someday, but not this cycle. That thought gave Lucifer hope the Blue Flame itself still existed, somewhere. It wasn’t denial, he convinced himself, Sandalphon was still alive, could only be alive. His death made no sense.

Lucifer couldn’t understand Sandalphon’s choice either, and thinking about it did him no good. Sandalphon must have somehow empathized with the Almighty because they were equals in solitude. But then, why aim for His heart?

Lucifer shook his head. “We must negotiate with the Gods. Our forces alone are not enough.”

Satan scoffed. “For you to say that… I see the Blue Flame’s power goes beyond tearing the Creator in half. It canceled your pride as well!” He laughed.

Lucifer sighed. “We will have no lands left to rule soon.”

Satan shrugged. He’d seen his Father divide into two, and that had been traumatic enough. Earth wasn’t much to him, but Lucifer had a point. He enjoyed power, and if he couldn’t antagonize humanity or have any enemies left, his existence was meaningless. A Demon of Wrath couldn’t survive without being angry about someone or something.

“I will have a word with Zeus,” Satan said, not expecting to become a historical hero within the next few hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time to SPEED UP. Almost done. ALMOST.
> 
> This chapter joins the Rage of Bahamut canon. If you want a glance at the scene this entire story was leading to:  
> https://youtu.be/eqwdtwCJvvY  
> BTW the anime's underrated, especially season 2.
> 
> I'll try to have finished the next chapter by next week. It's going to go fast from there.


	32. Chapter 32

There was no time for aggressive negotiations between armies while Bahamut had already flattened several mountains and claimed most lives in the valley. A truce and an agreement came swiftly between the three sides. They were losing more soldiers while Bahamut raged than during their thousand-year war.

King Charioce 2nd of Mistarcia accepted to use his cavalry to try to lure Bahamut out of the most inhabited region. Lucifer noticed a familiar face among the knights. The scruffy brown-haired man looked straight ahead at the dragon, wearing a new helmet and the coat of arms of the Orleans Knights on his chest. With the Divergence’s influence gone, the Chosen Hero could cause miracles again.

Humans didn’t have time to set conditions like Demons leaving their lands against their support. Unbeknownst to Charioce, the Knight would keep in Lucifer’s way, as he’d promised. If the king had known who was on the horse next to his, Charoice could have demanded eternal peace. Lucifer sniggered.

The cavalry galloped away in a cloud of dust and smoke. Satan turned somewhat reluctantly to Lucifer after having dismissed Beelzebub. The Duke curtsied and scrambled away, muttering under his breath that he too should be included in the decision-making. Nobody trusted the dung-fly, except Astarothe.

“We’ll have to try to seal the dragon, but even if we used all of our powers and lose our physical forms, I don’t think it would stop Bahamut forever.” He leaned down to Lucifer, whispering so no other could hear what he said.

“Bubs and his son are too unpopular to rule on Cocytus, and there’s no way I’d let Astarothe destroy everything I’ve created to fit their preferences. You have the Nephilim and Houses already on your side and are fit to be a king. No time for ceremonial proceedings, but could you defend my throne for as long as I can contain Bahamut?”

“You are handing me a lot of trouble, your Majesty,” Lucifer said, and Satan blasted into laughter.

“The entitlement! Ah, you just can’t change a Demon of Pride!” He slapped onto Lucifer’s shoulder, and the Fallen Angel reeled.

It was hard to reunite the troops under a discotheque of deadly laser beams and fireballs, but Satan managed to gather the Nephilim and Demons still alive. He said, “Lucifer is your new king. Let your families, your friends, and superiors know!”

Mid-cheer, everyone scattered. A fireball fell where the Demons had stood. The transfer of power wasn’t well communicated, leaving Lucifer with the trouble of confirming his own crowning, and probably fighting Astarothe for the throne.

Charioce led the cavalry, believing the Dragon had begun pursuing him thanks to his faith and honest services to the Church of Orleans. The king called loudly for the blessing of the God whose half was chasing the Singularity. Bahamut was targeting the Knight, just like it had targeted Sandalphon, not the old fool with red feathers on his helmet.

Demons and Angels flew around the Dragon, targeted by its fiery breath. They’d attracted it onto a wasteland, but its fire still reached the capital. The King deemed it the right place, the horses close to collapsing from the long race.

The Knight was tiny compared to the gigantic beast, but he summoned celestial magic and managed to distract Bahamut for long enough. Slash after slash, rays of lightning struck it. The Knight resisted, a holy shield protecting his tiny form. Humans watched in shock as he stabbed through the scales, otherwise harder than diamonds. Bahamut roared and flailed. Even that much power wasn’t sufficient to kill it.

Lucifer called for all the Nephilim and Demons in a coordinated spell with the Angels. Luminous chains bound the Dragon. One after another, Angels and Demons turned to dust. Not even their cores remained. The embodiments of celestial beings could only handle that much of a strain. Lucifer was unsure of how long he could resist.

The Dragon turned its head to Zeus, who appeared with Odin atop the highest mountain nearby. Then, Satan, all powers unleashed in his full form, came out from a portal in front of Bahamut. They were almost equal in size. Zeus sent the first beam, and Satan the second. Blinding light enveloped the dragon, the earth shook with the blow and the dragon’s last roar.

Their forms vanished as Bahamut turned to stone. The two rulers had gone dormant in the shape of keys to the seal. Cheers arose all across the battlefield. A bit early for celebration, Lucifer thought. Bahamut’s energy still lingered dangerously in the air. They were safe until the next cycle, Lucifer thought warily.

Lucifer looked at the luminous key in his hand. Hell wasn’t a safe place for that relic in Cocytus. Beelzebub was already staring at it, envy in his big, fly eyes. That Demon was a menace he’d have to eliminate later, once he had that authority. Lucifer hid it with a spell, in a place he believed safe. Michael did the same with Zeus’s key.

Demons, Humans, and Angels separated without congratulations or camaraderie, exhausted. Both sides had lost their rulers, a new king had arisen. Baal had been right; the only way out was unity. They had succeeded to unite, and this battle would be written down in history. Humans, Demons, and Gods could unite against one force if it threatened them all, but only for as long as necessary.

Lucifer decided his first act as the King of Demons was to declare a truce, that is, once he’d found Sandalphon. Sahar had an advantage in time and might have already found his core. Michael suddenly appeared.

“The Speaker of Dawn summons you,” he said.

Lucifer remembered his promise to Egrigori. This time, he wouldn’t forget like he’d forgotten to request an audience for Azazel with Arbiter. His fate might have taken the same path, but at least Lucifer wouldn’t have broken his promise.

“May one of my Generals ask you a question? You’ve murdered his mate, my General Samael.”

Recollection appeared on Michael’s face, and then, remorse. “Now that the Divergence’s menace is gone, I ought to explain it to you both.”

***

The Angels allowed Lucifer into what remained of Eden. He walked with the weight of knowing why Samael had died. It had turned his feet to lead. The mechanics of fate and the function of a Divergence had become more explicit.

Imagine you wrote a long book with a beginning, middle, and an end. That is the cycle, fate as intended by the Almighty. Prophecies were excerpts of the first draft some chosen people had read. Imagine one of the book’s characters modified parts of your text and made a mess of the plot. That process was unconscious, followed no logic, and its only physical manifestation was the Blue Flame.

A few Gods knew the original text, including Zeus. When the High Council learned about his existence, they decided to “repair” and prevent his influence. Lucifer was supposed to become an antagonist in the original story, find redemption in another timeline, and never meet Sandalphon. Once they had met, everything went out of control, and disastrous decisions were taken.

Samael hadn’t known that much because Michael couldn’t tell her, but as an Archangel, he had to reply something in good faith when she asked for answers. If she’d told Lucifer to retreat or find Sandalphon in Eden, it could have led to the end of the world.

Lucifer shook his head, trying to ignore the implications of awakening that power anew. He will remain a slave

The Speaker stood near the rubble of an ancient house. Sandalphon and Lucifer had met a few times at its entry, and he could remember beautiful orchids at the windows. They were tended with care and love. If there had still been flowers, they’d been charred by Bahamut’s breath.

Sahar held his hands in his back almost childishly. Lucifer kept his hand on the hilt of his sword, not even trying to keep an unthreatening posture.

“He’s gone,” Sahar said as if that would break the ice. “I could have sworn there would be at least a core or a tiny little spark, but all of him is gone. Even the flame.”

There he was, talking as if an innocent spectator surprised by the turn of the events. Lucifer wanted to cut his head, but no, that wouldn’t be enough. An eternity in Pandemonium wouldn’t be enough either. He noticed he was clenching his teeth so hard, his jaw hurt.

Lucifer had many things to say, but he couldn’t say anything. If Sahar was telling the truth, then Bahamut had erased the Blue Flame. Sahar looked at Lucifer expectantly, as if he had a reply. He kept his lips tight and dignified.

Something in Lucifer felt hollow as if the void were consuming him. Despair, perhaps, but he wasn’t the best at observing emotions. If Sandalphon wasn’t there anymore, he didn’t have a reason to stay or to fight.

_Eve’s curse will follow him wherever he goes and whatever he becomes. You might be able to stop him now, but he won’t always be yours._

He was about to turn his back on Sahar when they both noticed another presence. Gabriel and Egrigori seemed the same as confused that they hadn’t seen her earlier. Magisa had appeared out of nowhere. What motive could the witches have by worshipping and protecting that power?

Lucifer’s eyes widened. They must have found Sandalphon! He was ready to leap at her, but he remembered everything he’d already done wrong. She wasn’t his or Sahar’s enemy but one of Sandalphon’s friends. He couldn’t help but be mistrustful, but he had no reason to attack her either. Sahar looked at her as one would an unoriginal painting. They hadn’t ever met before.

“Who is she?” Sahar asked, glancing at Gabriel.

“She’s a friend of Sandalphon’s and one of the people who saved me from Pandemonium,” Lucifer said, and she smiled somewhat sardonically.

“A witch? San-chan had a witch friend?”

“You know only little of Sandalphon,” Lucifer scoffed, and Magisa clicked her tongue. He closed his mouth.

She cut directly to the chase. “There’s a bit of him left. We’ll hand him over with one condition.” Her grin widened and sent shivers crawling down Lucifer’s spine.

“Oh…” Sahar sighed.

Magisa was playing with fire. Suddenly, Lucifer understood Sahar’s refusal to give Sandalphon any form of freedom; he wanted to feel in control of his fate. Lucifer wouldn’t fall into that kind of simplistic mindset. Sahar controlled absolutely nothing, no matter how hard he tried.

Sahar tried to touch the witch, but his hand went through her body. She wasn’t there, but somewhere else. He frowned. “Why can’t I sense where he is?” Sahar half-mumbled to himself.

“Because his body has been destroyed. All that remains of him is this…”

A blue flame flickered weakly atop a Morning Glory held in a small vase. It was as if it were desperately hanging to one of its blossoms.

“I can give him another body, no problem!” Sahar said enthusiastically, but Magisa puckered her lips and shook her head.

“Baal says you can’t. You could try, but it won’t work.”

“Oh…” Sahar sighed again. “But would he at least talk to me?”

Magisa nodded. “I invite you both to our modest new coven. No fighting, no raid, understood?”

She sounded like a mother warning her children. Sahar seemed into that kind of playfulness, his gaze expectant and excited again. The fool still hadn’t come down to earth and understood anything he ought to about his actions. They both accepted, believing Sandalphon would be reasonable.

Lucifer couldn’t wait to see Sandalphon turning his back on Sahar and leaving with the Demons. Sahar couldn’t wait to travel the world with Sandalphon, now that he wasn’t tied to Eden anymore. Both made their plans, daydreaming about their victory and happy future with the Cupid.

Magisa cut the communication spell and gazed at the small flame. “Oh dear…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit explicative, contains details I should have written inside the plot and scenes earlier, but this is like the first draft of a very long book without any beta-reader. There should be one chapter left after this one, but it might be two. I'll try to update by next week.


	33. V - BEAST

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess that most people reading this fic aren’t die-hard ShioSan shippers, but in case you are, this chapter might be painful.

A year had passed since Bahamut’s rampage. Cocytus was in the turmoil of internal power struggles after Lucifer’s self-proclamation as King of the Demons. Astarothe had opposed his crowning, declaring themselves the logical heir to the throne as Satan’s spouse and threatening civil war. They also argued they had children for the succession, unlike the Lord of the Edgelands.

“When could we expect an heir from you then, my Lord?” Astarothe had asked sarcastically, knowing a birth from a Fallen Seraph was close to a miracle. “If you die before you can produce children, our capital won’t ever know peace.” Lucifer was thinking about laws he could change within his Houses, but meanwhile, he had to keep a low profile and protect himself from conspirers and assassins.

He’d been waiting for the witch’s invitation impatiently. It took the time they needed to create a new vessel for Sandalphon. To avoid any inference from Astarothe, officially, the Blue Flame was gone and Sandalphon dead. Unlike Gods and the strongest Demons, they couldn’t create something from nothing, even with the Blue Flame.

Lucifer’s wings fidgeted as he sat at a table in Magisa’s private quarters with the witch and Sahar. He wasn’t the type for tea parties, and he hadn’t come to make friends or peace with witches or the Speaker. Sneaking out of Cocytus in the current situation hadn’t been a piece of cake. Egrigori was, once again, covering for him. He took a sip of the leave-flavored hot water. Not unpleasant, but it lacked some punch. Or punches. Damn, he still wanted to punch Sahar silly. It would have been an adequate stress relief.

The witch’s new coven had grown out of the earth as fast as a mushroom. Villages outside the Dark Forest had barely begun cleaning up rubble and burning their dead, but at the coven, it felt like they were in a time-bubble. The grass was lush and green, vines grew up the walls as if it had been there for a century, and flowers with vivid colors thrived in the garden. All around, winter, but it was mid-spring in the heart of the Dark forest. It looked more like a fairy house than a witch’s lair.

“It’s thanks to our Lilith’s blessing,” Magisa had said.

While he wouldn’t comment or compliment, Lucifer was someone observant and sensitive to beauty. Their garden square and orchard was almost as pretty as Eden but didn’t look one bit the same. Plenty of blue flowers grew, but none of them were Morning Glories or orchids. It seemed a Divergence could also create, not only destroy.

Besides the sunny spot outside, the coven itself looked as spare as any other. There was a make-believe chapel with an altar, rows of wooden banks for seating, only the stained-glass worth of observing. They represented landscapes, flowers, and animals rather than Angels, Gods, and Demons, or scenes from the Holy Church’s book. That name had fallen into disgrace anyways.

Mirin had accompanied Lucifer and had stayed behind for a tour with Mammon. Hopefully, they wouldn’t manage to convert her into their sect because she seemed fascinated. Baal was still lurking around but hadn’t shown herself since they’d arrived.

“Why must you still pass as a normal coven? The Holy Church has fallen, and magic isn’t an illegal activity anymore,” Lucifer asked.

“A change in politics doesn’t change behaviors, Lucifer. Magic schools will open, sorcerers, alchemists, and mages will take apprentices, but we remain witches who worship the Cataclysmic Angel.”

Mammon entered with Mirin, who ran to Lucifer and jumped around excitedly. “Alchemy is amazing, Lucifer! Oh, all those gadgets, and the glass casket, and oh, oh, it’s incredible!”

“A casket?” Lucifer frowned.

“If she let you in, I guess it’s time,” Magisa said. She wiped her mouth with a napkin and stood up.

“Alchemy?” Sahar sounded skeptical. Gods didn’t like humans trying to do the work of Gods. “Are you using Alchemy to revive San-chan? Don’t you use witchcraft?”

“Please follow me. Our Alchemist will explain better than me.”

They followed Magisa through the mass hall, behind the altar, and down a few sets of stairs. The place was underground but lit with artificial light. Alchemists had known for a long time how to tame electricity and put them into bulbs. The alliance between the dark arts and the weird science of alchemy seemed unusual to Lucifer.

A little girl in a frilly red dress and blonde hair and a spiky crown on her head was writing on a notebook. “Hi, Mother Magisa!” she said in a high, singsong voice. “Your cute little prince is a bit demanding with the specifics, but nothing that I, the great Cagliostro, can’t handle.” Then, her voice suddenly dropped a few octaves. “I hope you’ve prepared the object of our deal.”

“Yes, we have.”

“Yahoo, great!” She moved to a tubular glass and iron machine and pressed on a button.

“Erm, who is that?” Sahar whispered to Magisa while the little girl hummed, rocking on her soles as she held her hands in her back.

“The founder of alchemy, Master Cagliostro.” If Sahar had any remark, he kept it to himself. That little girl didn’t look the type advisable to upset.

The “glass casket” stood in the middle of the room, bubbling and shining green. The mist dissolved as Cagliostro kept tinkering on the buttons. As far as Alchemy went, from what Lucifer knew, the material was rather unusual. They used elements and things like steel, rarely machinery.

“A homunculus?” Lucifer had a short wave of anxiety. He wanted the real Sandalphon, not a copy.

“I could have done better than a homunculus,” Sahar muttered under his breath. He put his hand against the glass, flinched, and suddenly smiled. “Fascinating,” he said. “It is Sandalphon, no doubt on that.”

The little girl had frowned at him, and her voice deeper again, she scoffed, “Hmpf, Gods know nothing about artistry and hard work! I’ll tell you, Mister, your boy toy didn’t trust you to do the right job!”

Sahar giggled her off. She huffed and turned back to her work. “Anyways, ain’t he the cutest doll? A real little love angel, ain’t he?” Cagliostro said, a smile returning to her face. “Come have a closer look, don’t be shy, big guy!”

Sandalphon’s body was the same as before, except it looked more human. No halo, no wings, no demon tail, and still no apparent gender, nor celestial glow. The homunculus looked like a hyper-realistic doll ready to get dressed and spoiled. Lucifer shook his head and looked away. Something about this new form made him feel all kinds of funny.

“We had to talk with his soul during a séance to decide of the most appropriate vessel to give him. Also, witchcraft wouldn’t have been enough to contain the Blue Flame if it ever awakens again,” Magisa explained.

“He’s a bit of a special case when it comes to the homunculus,” Cagliostro said. “It would have taken me a few hundred years more to do this on my own. Sometimes, only magic makes such inventions possible.”

Sandalphon’s eyelashes shivered, Lucifer shivered. It was hard to pay attention to whatever Cagliostro was saying because it had been thousands of years since he’d last seen the Cupid. He noticed he’d put two hands against the glass and was almost hugging it. Sahar’s gaze contained the diplomacy from an enemy country, an emptiness he could have taken for a threat. His wings slightly bristled. Magisa coughed, and both of them took a step away.

“The Blue Flame is dormant?” Sahar asked, “Can it do that?”

“I don’t know yet. From a chemical point of view, a fascinating subject to study, but Sandy should be just fine, even if it suddenly goes... Kaboom!” Cagliostro’s giggled darkly.

Sahar tipped his head to the side and hummed, unconvinced. He knew that power better than them, but he wouldn’t share his knowledge. He was still convinced Sandalphon would follow him home, so he could handle it if problems emerged. Lucifer could control it the same and, hopefully, find a way to extract it entirely and rid the world of its menace.

“Now, technicalities, technicalities!” Cagliostro hummed, and her expression turned scholar. “A homunculus’ appearance and functions depend greatly on its environment,” Cagliostro explained, pulling a lever. The liquid began lowering, and the casket moved horizontally.

“The bonus your boy has is that his body will also change depending on his needs. Now, I love being the cutest little girl on earth, but he had a special request. I made his body so it could shapeshift from male to female or to nothing. That was the biggest hassle, but I made it!”

Cagliostro looked very proud of herself, and Magisa applauded. The casket opened, steam flowing out. Sandalphon was lying bare on an operation table, still asleep or inactive. Lucifer couldn’t help but check; there was nothing new or out of the ordinary. He felt like touching Sandalphon’s skin, but Cagliostro slapped his hand away.

“Nope! Not before I’ve checked, everything is functional once he’s awake,” she snapped, and Lucifer nodded.

She resumed, covering Sandalphon with a sheet. “A homunculus feeds on the energies of its environment. He will need sustenance to survive.”

“Sustenance? Do you mean food?” Sahar asked. “Are fruits enough?”

“Your celestial power would keep him healthy. If it were with Magisa, he’d get plenty of mana. As for you, Lucifer… I heard you want to make him a Succubus?” Cagliostro raised an eyebrow, and Magisa giggled. Sahar didn’t laugh at that.

Lucifer scratched the back of his head. “He’d become the ruler of all Succubus and Incubus. It would be more troublesome if I put the vessel of the Blue Flame into the House of Wrath or Gluttony, now wouldn’t it?”

Cagliostro looked up as if asking God what He was thinking and then nodded to herself. Probably, it was a better choice, yes.

“One last thing; Never put two opposite energies like dark and light into his body at the same time. If he ever changes his mind, he shouldn’t run straight back to Heaven after years in Hell. That could damage my fine work, alright?”

Lucifer saw one of Sandalphon’s hands twitch. Cagliostro also noticed it and stood between them and the homunculus. “You’ve had your sneak peek. He’ll be a bit confused for a while, and calm would be better for now. I need to give him a checkup, and peeking is a no-no.”

Sahar didn’t have to be asked twice, and, even a bit impatient and annoyed, Lucifer followed Magisa out of the laboratory. He wanted to give the first hug, hear the first words, kiss those lips as soon as they opened. His entire body was burning as if the splinters of the Cupid’s Arrow were still deep in his flesh. Thousands of years battling to get him back, and he was there.

At last, they could reunite for real!

***

Lucifer had found a place in the coven’s library, not minding the cold glares he’d receive by witches. They could hate him all they wanted; he didn’t care. Everyone hated the devil except Demons, and it was good that way. Books had become rare after Bahamut’s rampage on Mistarcia, and Satan hadn’t built a library in Cocytus. Lucifer felt comfy in his large seat, sunlight trickling in through the window as he paged a book on alchemy.

Witches were indifferent to celestial auras, so, for once, Sahar could peacefully walk around a garden on earth and help with tending to the plants without a horde of fangirls at his tail. He called the peaceful vegetable garden “Heaven on Earth.” Baal nodded kindly, listening to his ramblings as they dug out roots and medicinal plants.

Meanwhile, in a large bedroom in front of a tall silver-framed mirror, Sandalphon had chosen his clothes. He looked at his reflection and couldn’t hold back a smile. Perhaps this body was a bit shorter and cuter than the original. That was in part because of Cagliostro’s influence as she’d stood longest at his side. He turned to look at his back, feeling relieved there wasn’t a pair of brown, injured wings. 

“Are you ready, love? Are you sure you won’t have any regrets?” Magisa asked, closing the little hooks of his top undergarment, and then pulled a few strings.

Cagliostro had examined Sandalphon, received her pay, a ‘Tear of the Apocalypse,’ and left for the day. She’d spent months studying the Blue Flame, so even though the coven couldn’t offer her much in money, they had given her a relic of great value for alchemy.

“I probably will,” Sandalphon said with a slightly anxious smile, “but I want to surprise Lucifer a bit.”

“What a naughty little love angel you are,” Magisa giggled as he put his arms through a pair of sleeves, and she closed the zip in his back. The clothes were tailored for him but still a bit tight compared to what he was used to.

“No, I’m not an Angel anymore,” he hummed, unable to stop staring at his new form. “I’m a—”

***

Lucifer had zoomed down the steps of the tower. Sandalphon, his Sandalphon, was waiting for him in the chapel, Magisa had said.

All the witches were assembled in the mass hall, seated, and had begun their evening prayers. Mammon and Mirin stood near to the altar, side to side with what seemed to be a high priestess dressed in an unusual scarlet nun dress. The window above represented flowers, and there wasn’t any tabernacle on the altar.

She stood up at turned around. It was Sandalphon.

“But…” Lucifer had opened his mouth, but Sandalphon put his finger to his lips.

Nobody else could silence the Demon King with a gesture. Lucifer’s feet were riveted to the ground with his jaw. Sandalphon looked magnificent in that dress and as a woman, but the message it sent went against his expectations. Sahar was the same, confusion all over his face.

“The many occult séances with Magisa listening to everything that has happened have been terrible,” Sandalphon said, his voice slightly quivering. “I was dead when I first heard what you’ve been doing all these years, Lucifer.”

The witches had influenced him! Anger welled up Lucifer’s chest, but it froze immediately as red eyes looked straight at him. Then they became warmer, a softer expression on Sandalphon’s face. “You’ve been a terrible, terrible Demon, Lucifer…”

It felt more like a teasing tap on the behind than like a real scolding. It made Lucifer hot in the face. He noticed he’d fallen down to a knee but was still upright. Sandalphon’s darkening gaze held him in a vice-grip.

“You’ve taken innocent lives, terrorized people often gratuitously to build your reputation as a Demon. There are many unforgivable things I will forgive because I love you and don’t care about humans, but there’s one I just can’t forgive.” He gestured at the witches.

Lucifer had forgotten them with his eyes only for the Red Nun, and flinched noticing a hundred of them at least were staring.

“You’ve treated my friends, our allies who would have greeted you with open arms and helped you for free, like enemies. You’ve destroyed their home, kidnapped their Mother, mistreated her, and thrown her away as soon as you’d had what you wanted. The worst is that I know that you can’t and won’t repent because your curse as a Demon is pride!”

Sandalphon was right. Apologies from Lucifer were rarely honest, and he’d seen his actions as necessary at the time. Still, hearing it coming from his lover’s mouth stung. Lucifer’s worst fear was that Sandalphon wouldn’t follow him because the humiliation in front of Sahar and the convent would have been too much for his pride.

“It is your fault I now feel obligated to repent in your place. I will serve, bless and protect this community for as many years as you’ve terrorized them before I put a foot into Cocytus.”

Now it was Sahar who lurched forward and interrupted Sandalphon. “But you can’t be serious! He wants to make you into a Succubus at his service! Hell is a bad place, with mean and scary Demons, you—”

“Sahar…” Sandalphon’s tone had become so icy, Lucifer felt a chill. He’d never heard the sweet, soft Sandalphon take such a voice. The corner of his eye caught the blue light of a stained-glass representing flames, which could be interpreted as Hell, but he knew to be something else.

“While Lucifer has harmed everyone else, you are the only person who has spent thousands, tens of thousands of years harming _me_.”

“I’ve… Hurt you?” Sahar seemed even more confused.

“I heard from Magisa there are creatures called Goblins who have a taste for witch’s flesh. They call it rape. I’ve never seen a Goblin, but somehow, I could relate—”

“But, it’s a requirement in coup—”

“Enough! Shut your mouth and let me talk!” Sandalphon snapped. It sounded like a whiplash, and even Lucifer lowered his head. Sahar seemed to shrink.

“You have imprisoned me for all of my life, let our loyal servant Nahash die murdered by Demons and exiled Shalem in the name of our Father! You even went as far as provoking Lucifer while he was imprisoned in Pandemonium!

Let me tell you one last thing Father said to me before I struck him with my arrow; He was embarrassed for what had happened. He said he was sorry! Have you ever said sorry? Will you ever mean it?”

Sahar opened and closed his mouth, pale in the face. He’d understood apologizing wouldn’t be enough. His guilt only began sinking at that moment. The entire convent looked disgusted and angry. Sandalphon pointed an inquisitive finger down at Sahar.

“Lucifer has been through horrible torture, but he always kept his promises. He freed Nephilim from oppression in Heaven and Hell. He’s protected his friends and took his fate into his hands! What did you do?”

Lucifer had curled over and held his stomach tight. Perfect! Sandalphon was magnificent, unhinged with merciless rage in his eyes, trampling the Speaker of Dawn with harsh realities. Lucifer wanted to hear more, more of this, even become the target, and hear all of his sins listed while trampled by the Red Nun.

“You, meanwhile, have just been making sure I can’t wake up and whining about me not letting you into my dreamscape. You know what? Indifference is the root of true evil! No, I don’t want to follow you anywhere! Now, get out of my sight forever!”

Sahar staggered, a hand on his chest. He’d lost his shine and didn’t look much more than human anymore. Sandalphon, on the other hand, was glowing like a God, as if he’d drained Sahar consciously. The Speaker of Dawn left the chapel with his head low and no arguments in his favor. Like a small bird, Lucifer was almost flat on the ground, his wings weighing him down and taking the dust.

“You’re red in the face, Lucifer,” Sandalphon said and glanced around questioningly as several witches had started giggling.

“Oh, Sandalphon… You were a Beast.” Lucifer wheezed, trying to regain his composure.

Hot, soft hands cupped his cheeks. Sandalphon’s face was slightly rounder than before, and his mouth smaller. It wasn’t exactly as he’d remembered, but his heart skipped a beat. That was the only witch he could and ever would worship like a Goddess, the scarlet nun of the witch’s coven, their Lilith.

“Will you marry me?” ran out of Lucifer’s mouth, as if he were bashful, as if the King of Demons could feel overwhelmed. Ridiculous! He was the King, but that round face, those soft hands, those big eyes… Sandalphon, sweet Sandalphon, his beloved, could handle him like a child and be the one standing higher. Lucifer couldn’t think anymore.

Sandalphon smiled. “If I can be your spouse and stay here for as long as I promised to, yes,” he said, putting a kiss on Lucifer’s forehead.

“As you wish,” Lucifer said, melting.

Sandalphon wrapped Lucifer’s head into his arms, and the entire convent cheered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more wrap-up chapter, and it's done!


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [FINAL ARTWORK HERE](https://twitter.com/NanosFics/status/1358860044167753731)

A lone Seraph woke up on the serpentine railing of a fountain. He looked up at the statue of the sleeping lady, her single eye shut, frozen in ice and in time. She lay with her head on her crossed forearms. Cocytus’ main square was empty at dawn, the temperatures far below freezing. Egrigori dusted the frost from his wings and grimaced, hungover. There hadn’t been any cause for celebration, but the Depraved always honored his title.

The statue splurge had come directly from Lucifer’s pocket. Astarothe and their court hadn’t recognized and wouldn’t honor the heroism in Samael’s sacrifice, calling her death a dumb miscalculation from the General. She’d gone to her death by herself and had put her soldiers in danger. That was enough to convince Egrigori to conspire with Lucifer to assassinate the Duke.

He lit a damp cigar and found some comfort on the hard, cold stone. The snake hadn’t been much softer or warmer alive, but about a hundred times smaller. Samael would have laughed at the grandiosity of the Great War memorial fountain and pointed out she slept with all her eyes open.

Egrigori could hear her morning cough if he closed his eyes, so he kept them open to avoid heartache. Flowers he’d brought a few days earlier were still there, frozen. Samael’s core was inside the memorial, so perhaps her spirit listened to the local’s conversations. A dead Demon, just like a dead Angel, never disappeared entirely. She must have been trying to tell him to go home and sleep somewhere warmer. He remembered he had a reason to be there, other than grieve while dead drunk.

Tensions were escalating in the Royal Palace between Lucifer loyalists and the old nobility. Many, including Beelzebub, didn’t recognize him as the legitimate heir of the throne and that Satan had failed to acquire the Blue Flame. It was just a matter of a few years, decades if Sandalphon was lucky before Astarothe would begin searching for him, even though the Speaker of Dawn had confirmed him dead. A few Demons had seen Sandalphon die with their own eyes, but there were rumors Sahar and Lucifer were hiding the Cataclysmic Angel.

“Belial has taken your place in the House of Wrath,” he snickered, “You imagine that? Our little girl, Grand Duchess of Gehennah, Sixth Mate of Lucifer. They had a lovely ceremony, with a parade and all the solemn crap… The House of Wrath’s dish breaking ritual was fun, though.”

His hungover memory was slowly creeping back with each puff of his cigar. The celebration parade had happened two days ago, and he’d spent it sending himself higher than Etemenanki. Not because he was unhappy, but because he could. Egrigori’s court always celebrated to the extreme, even during Satan’s funeral. His hangover then had been far worse, and Azazel said he’d cried over the statue.

Will-O-Wisps were converging on the square. They couldn’t speak or hear him but were a manifestation of the dark ley lines in Cocytus and awakening evil spirits. The red, weak sun of Hell had begun rising, struggling to burn through the thick miasma. Egrigori couldn’t stay for long anymore, lest people recognize him and become bothersome. He took a last glance around and stood up.

“I declined an invitation to an Initiation of the House of Lust.” Egrigori puffed a thick cloud of smoke. “I think you would have done the same for this one.”

Samael wasn’t there to reply, but to Egrigori, the statue seemed satisfied with his choice.

***

The High Priestess Sandalphon, renamed Solomon, was reading a witchcraft book at the convent’s library, trying to memorize easy spells. It wasn’t just the words that held power, but also the gestures, intonation, and the control of mana. Those were the basics. Then, he’d have to learn about plants, herbs, and roots to concoct potions. Summoning, incantations, and curses would come last.

Lucifer named Mirin Sandalphon’s royal aid. As a future Incubus, he had to learn the culture and rituals of the House of Lust. Seduction, cunning, and manipulation weren’t things that came naturally to a former Cupid. Lucifer had promised he’d do his part of teaching as well, but the current situation trapped him in Cocytus most of the time. His visits could put the convent in danger.

“Mmh, whatcha thinking about?” Mirin asked.

He’d been staring through Mirin, who had put a pencil between her lip and nose.

“The initiation is tonight, but I’m not sure what design I should choose for the Marking Ritual,” he said.

“Ah, the Incubus mark? The edgier, the better!”

“Edgy?” He asked, putting a page marker into the book and closing it.

“Yeah. Demons love edgy stuff. The pain is important, too, to show you’re a warrior. Nobles underestimate us, but in the military service, Succubus are like sex ninjas, hiiiiyah!” She threw the pencil, and it stabbed straight into a book in the library behind Sandalphon.

Mirin struggled to get the pencil out of the ruined book, Sandalphon laughing. The mark could be anywhere and whatever size he wanted. He’d thought about a large snake all over his back, but now it seemed unoriginal. Perhaps a message? If he wasn’t careful and it turned out silly, he’d become the court’s laughing stock.

Sandalphon wasn’t afraid of pain. In fact, he’d found a liking to it ever since he’d woken up. Pain proved he was awake and what was happening real. Mirin’s Succubus mark was on her stomach, right under the belly-button, a sensitive spot. Even though he wasn’t an Incubus, Azazel had chosen to prove himself a warrior with a tattoo on his cheekbone.

Entertained by Mirin and busy enough with the convent’s chores, the last day before the ceremony passed quickly.

***

Sandalphon had woken up early in the morning to get prepared and for his Sisters to dress him in the heavy layered ceremonial dress for the Marking. He could barely walk with it, and it was uncomfortable and hot beneath the gown. The Marking was a part of the Succubus initiation ritual following the ‘deflowering,’ the layers representing petals removed piece by piece. Some called the Marking a sacred strip show.

If it were a legitimate marking ceremony with Sandalphon as Lucifer’s top concubine and first husband, there would have been hundreds of spectators from the nobility. There was no other Succubus in this secret ceremony than Mirin, and the spectators were the witches, Lucifer, Azazel, and Mammon. Lucifer was seated on the front row. To respect the witches who had to assist him instead of other Succubus, Sandalphon removed and shortened parts from the ritual and took his female appearance.

Lucifer was magnificent in his ceremonial armor, but even the golden parts couldn’t equal his shine. He sat on a simple wooden chair like a king on his throne but smiled when Sandalphon arrived, dragging his long robes behind and positioned himself at the center of the stage. The advantage of this ceremony was its intimacy. 

Sandalphon’s legs shivered in anticipation under his robes as he kneeled, immobile. He couldn’t help but think about which parts he’d removed from the ceremony. For a beginning, that would have been quite an initiation… With Lucifer’s eyes on him, Sandalphon began doubting his design and spot choice for the mark. He lowered his eyes.

“Don’t fear judgment,” Mirin whispered in his ear, rubbing his shoulders, “It’s part of our culture and pride. Our King should be absolutely shameless.”

Shame wasn’t a problem for Sandalphon, but people were. Going from thousands of years locked in Eden and himself to dealing with spectators for such a ceremony was a giant leap. He feared his choice to be laughable, more than what they were about to do to his body in public. Lucifer caught his hesitation.

“You will have much more pressure in the court with royal obligations,” Lucifer said with an understanding smile that immediately gave Sandalphon resolve. “Here, you have no obligation to…”

“I’ll do it,” Sandalphon said, and he lifted his arms to the side.

Several witches stripped piece by piece of his dress in a sort of slow, languid choreography. He could feel there was a part of worship at that moment. All eyes were on him, and he didn’t mind. Still, with Lucifer staring intently as he did, Sandalphon felt hot but lighter and lighter. The ceremony represented sexual liberation, freedom, and with the weight slowly taken off his shoulders, Sandalphon could understand the symbolism. His assistants were getting to the last layer, the thinnest.

“My body is yours tonight, and this last part is for only you to open,” Sandalphon said to Lucifer.

He spread his legs and revealed the chastity belt. Several witches blushed, and Magisa’s eyes crossed, the thing not quite in the liberation spirit of their cult. Mammon wasn’t impressed, more interested in daydreaming about the buffet in preparation outside. Azazel grunted. Lucifer didn’t take his eyes off it, his face emotionless, but his gaze hot. Sandalphon felt powerful and confident, even as slowly, the last layer was coming off. He felt silk slowly removed from his skin, now completely exposed, and the caress of the room’s cool air.

Lucifer undid the lock with a flick of his fingers, and Mirin removed the belt.

As naked as him in honor of the ritual and respect, witches spread and rubbed a golden lotion all over his body. He’d never felt such soft, gliding touches before. He hummed in pleasure, not concentrated on the assistance anymore. Wings ruffled. Opening his eyes again once they’d covered his face with gold, Sandalphon was glimmering with the soft shine of the candles.

Sandalphon recited the text of the ritual.

“This is my body, as it is bare, to be worshipped and loved, to take the seed and give the Devil’s spawn. I shall use it as an object of pleasure for my King and the object of nightmares to mankind. I shall use all my charms without shame or virtue, for Lust is my sin. With this mark, my oath as his Majesty’s husband and an Incubus will be sealed in my skin.”

The last part was about to begin, and Sandalphon’s anxiety was back. He had to tell where he wanted the mark and why.

“My mark is my message to all those who might look down on my folk and will look at that sacred place. I heard my kind is considered the prostitutes of Hell. That is not true. We are creatures of pleasure and indulgence who give and take from whom we see fit.”

Sandalphon’s voice slightly trembled, and his mouth was pasty. It was hard to play a confident character, to talk high and loud to so many people.

“From now on, I shall only give to take! You cannot take anything from me without my consent; I won’t allow it. ‘I shall only give to take’ will be the message my Sisters shall stitch on my skin, on that defiled sanctuary. I will be my body’s only master! I give it all to my Lord because I want to, it is his to use because I want to, and even he should never forget it!”

The room roared in applause with Lucifer. Calm washed over Sandalphon as he’d observed his success. He’d had a long, challenging journey to at last stand in front of everyone and assert his control.

The witches put pillows and a sheet over a mattress set on a table. Sandalphon laid on his back, ready for the tattooing part, which would last until sunset. The design he’d chosen was at his side, and the witch responsible for marking him was already informed. She took her needles out.

Sandalphon spread his legs and exhaled deeply.

***

Mirin had followed Azazel as he’d trudged out of the room. He’d gone to the still almost empty buffet and taken himself a glass of Cocytus wine. “Crazy. That Incubus is insane! Who gave him the idea he must do it at… That place!?”

Mirin giggled nervously, shrugging as if she didn’t know. Mammon had been holding Lucifer’s arm firmly to keep him seated. Lucifer’s wings had bristled, and several of the witches had closed their eyes or also left the room. Even the tattoo artist, a witch who had plenty on her own body, was biting her lip and frowning while doing the job.

“Well, I did tell him it should be extreme. I didn’t think he’d go directly for the cro—”

Azazel hissed. He didn’t like to remember the little he’d watched beyond the undressing.

“Don’t worry, Azzie!” she said, patting his back, “He enjoys it.”

Azazel growled and said between his teeth, “That’s why I’m saying he’s insane!”

Hours later, the moaning stopped. Sandalphon might have fainted. When Mirin had returned to the chapel room, Sandalphon was standing with a delighted grin, his tattoo finished, and Lucifer kneeling at his waist’s height. The King had to bless the mark with a kiss, and Sandy, that naughty little Incubus, was biting his lip, his face red.

Everyone was leaning forward, some giggling or laughing full-throated like Magisa, who stamped their feet. She was having a good time at seeing the King abashed. Mirin sensed Azazel a second, and he’d gone just as quickly. No, he didn’t want to see that either.

“H-hey,” Lucifer grumbled as Sandalphon pat his head, waiting for the kiss. The King was blushing to the ears, a sight to see.

“I-it’s weird, huh? I chose the wrong thing after all…” Sandalphon lowered his eyes.

“I love it, and you impressed me on stage. Here, let me prove it.”

“Eeep! A-ahn!”

Lucifer licked his lips, a beastly glint in his eyes. Now Mirin needed some fresh air.

***

An extensive buffet covered in fruit and game stood outside in front of the chapel. The witches had lit a bonfire and were dancing to their heart’s content. It wasn’t a Sabbath, but a wedding party like almost any other, save for the Demons and fancy witch hats. Mirin was with Mammon, waiting for the groom. Sandalphon needed a bath after the marking ceremony and to slip into his wedding gown. The Glutton was struggling to not eat everything on the table.

“He’s here!” someone cried, and Mirin ogled up and down, her throat suddenly dry.

Sandalphon had returned to his male appearance. He wore a long red gown transparent at the front from the neck to the middle of the hips, the top of his tattoo visible. Precious stones looked like they were dusted over the tight muscles of Sandalphon’s bare torso and abdomen. The gown was in sheer silk, the bonfire’s light outlining his legs below the shredded strands of fabric.

Succubus didn’t usually marry, nor did they dress much and kept fabric coverage minimal. The more the Incubus’ clothes attracted his prey’s eyes on his assets in detail, the better. They were predatory creatures, akin to vampires. Mirin was on the tame side in appearance. Sandalphon’s arms, back, and legs were covered, but he still managed to look naked.

Sandalphon whispered something to Lucifer, who had been staring at him just like Mirin. The witches gave their congratulations, and one came with a flower wreath. Sandalphon put it onto Lucifer’s head and pulled him towards the dance. Tambourines, lyres, flutes, and other instruments were part of the small witch orchestra playing. Everyone made a place for the couple.

Within a few minutes, the King had dropped most of his armor to free his movements, still checking carefully if he still had his flower crown. It seemed to be the most essential thing in the world to him, and it had blue roses. More of Sandalphon’s gown had ripped, but he didn’t care. They were hand in hand, chest to chest, and dancing like devils. Mirin hadn’t ever seen Lucifer that happy, and watching them, she felt tears of joy welling up in her eyes.

After several cups of wine, eating much, and dancing much, the couple forgot their surroundings. Their silhouettes embraced under the moon, in a shadowy corner nearer to the peaceful forest. A red glint caught Mirin’s eye; there was the beginning of horns on the sides of Sandalphon’s head. Lucifer also noticed and touched it. Sandalphon put his leg between Lucifer’s and nudged.

There must be a witch willing to give Magisa some heart food that night, she thought, searching for the tattoo artist with her eyes. Sandalphon and Lucifer had slipped away.

***

Magisa had prepared the couple a beautiful nuptial room. The roof looked open, the illusion of a milky-way shining above them. All of it was the fruit of magic, the chamber usually smaller and for Sandalphon alone. The bed’s heavy red curtains were open, and a trail of a few clothes led to it.

Perhaps it was because of the influence of spending his nights and days in Mirin’s company or the marking ceremony, but Sandalphon’s entire body felt meant to give and take pleasure as he’d vowed. Lucifers’ lips traced his neck and chest with his lips, kisses feather-light.

In a dream, all of those sensations were blurred and mixed with emotion, not as raw. The dips and curves of Lucifer’s muscles were real and firm, his weight made both their bodies dip into the mattress, and his wings pooled like a duvet over Sandalphon.

Lucifer tugged the string of Sandalphon’s underwear. It snapped against Sandalphon’s hip, and he hummed into their kiss. Lucifer’s hair was cold and silky between his fingers, and he indulged in the sensations between their mouths, their bodies, and his fingers.

Lucifer peppered kisses down his chest, to the dip of his stomach, to the tattoo. He blessed the message again and went lower than during the ceremony. The frontier of the ink reached, it wasn’t a blessing anymore; it was hungry worship. Sandalphon covered his mouth.

“It’s beautiful,” Lucifer said. “Everything of you is lovely.”

Sandalphon had read about Lucifer’s visits at the harem in a concubine’s diary that Mirin used for his instruction. A few parts had been painful to read and put tears of jealousy into his eyes. Unfair, others had had Lucifer long before him, many of them, but the King hadn’t ever worshipped any mark or treated another concubine with such tenderness.

They’d described Lucifer as someone dominant and reserved, who would rarely give or receive a compliment. He was a husband who did his duties, gave his partners pleasure, but never went beyond his obligations. Some concubines were arguing amongst themselves to interpret who Lucifer liked the most because he wasn’t ever explicit. The answer was simple; Lucifer loved only Sandalphon and liked his harem.

He was spoiling his husband way beyond the necessary. Sandalphon almost told him to relent because it felt too good. He jolted, caught in a wave of pleasure after a series of welling ripples. It was quick but powerful. Sandalphon felt like the mattress and pillows hugged him as he came back from a place he’d missed in Heaven.

Lucifer wiped his mouth and positioned himself to give. Soft ministrations and slow preparation until Sandalphon could welcome the entirety of his desire. Clenched cushion, eyes shut tight, a hitching breath. Sandalphon groaned, and his eyes opened wide, and looking up at the sky, at the shining Seraph. His legs around Lucifer’s hips held tighter, his toes curving like his spine.

“Tower of Babel!” Sandalphon cried. Tears from the effort adjusting rolled down the corners of his eyes.

“It is indeed,” Lucifer replied with a smug smile, flushed and eyes glimmering with heat. “Should I stop or go slower?”

“No, never!” He was ready for this and wanted all of it.

Sandalphon had spent thousands of years with the question of how pleasurable such a connection could be, and he felt full of love. It didn’t matter if it swelled under his mark. Lucifer seemed more concerned about it than him, glancing down questioningly.

“Please, give it to me,” Sandalphon rasped.

And he received it all; pain, pleasure, love, passion, all at once. It was a slow ascent. Sandalphon could fly as high as he wanted, no more golden cage, no more shame. This was a wingless body he’d never hurt but would treasure and worship as it deserved: no more prayers, no more self-flagellation, only respect. Deep in the mattress, hips high and his head thrown back, he was soaring.

Sandalphon wouldn’t be an Angel ever again. He moaned loudly, hoping the Gods could hear him, hear how happy and free one could be anywhere else than in Heaven. Gabriel blew her trumpets at the cry of the beast, and Lucifer sobbed in delight.

Both of them hit the sun and crashed. Sandalphon was back to earth, sweaty, spit at his mouth, and legs still tremoring. Catching up his breath, Lucifer pushed a strand of hair away from Sandalphon’s forehead and kissed it.

Sandalphon noticed a few physical changes; one of his arms had gone black, and his horns were pricking a hole into the mattress. Lucifer caressed the free one, his gaze warm. This was the person who would share his life from now on, forever. Never again years in solitude, surrounded only by his books and power-thirsty Demons.

“My Lord, must I really become a beast to join you in Cocytus?” Sandalphon asked.

“Hell makes everyone into a beast. All you have to do to protect yourself is to make others believe you’re the beast you’ve created. Are you having second thoughts?”

Sandalphon smiled and nuzzled against Lucifer. “I’d rather be a concubine in Hell than be a slave in Heaven.”

***

“Farewel happy Fields  
Where Joy for ever dwells: Hail horrours, hail  
Infernal world, and thou profoundest Hell  
Receive thy new Possessor: One who brings  
A mind not to be chang'd by Place or Time.  
The mind is its own place, and in it self  
Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n.  
What matter where, if I be still the same,  
And what I should be, all but less then he  
Whom Thunder hath made greater? Here at least  
We shall be free; th' Almighty hath not built  
Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:  
Here we may reign secure, and in my choyce  
To reign is worth ambition though in Hell:  
Better to reign in Hell, then serve in Heav'n.”  
― **John Milton,**[ **Paradise Lost**](https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/1031493)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The longest fic I've ever written and probably will write, done!
> 
> The poem at the end is what inspired a few parts and the general subject of the fic. Being stuck in a Hell of your own creation, viewing Heaven as Hell. I'll let you interpret the other links between the fic and Paradise Lost.
> 
> It's been over a year since I began writing ANGEL. Since then, I've done plenty of art and progressed in illustration, made several friends on Twitter, and have written many other fics.
> 
> The BEAST series will probably continue. If you're up to learn more about the actual life in Cocytus (all world-building of my invention) and at the harem, I intend to write a short fic on the theme that will be essentially explicit. I have another longer project called BEAST - 0, but I can't promise I'll finish the WIP. I'll only publish those ones once I've finished them, so expect several months with no updates.
> 
> Either way, if you want information on my updates, either follow me on Twitter @NanosFics or subscribe to my AO3 profile for email updates. I might mix between BEAST series and Genshin Impact fanfics, depending on the mood and ideas.
> 
> If you've read so far, congratulations, and thank you, thank you so much!


End file.
